


miss americana and the heartbreak prince

by lesbianbean



Category: Cobra Kai (Web Series)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Dancing, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Gay Awakening, Hurt/Comfort, Narrative foils, Rivalry, Secret Relationship, fighting as a love language, intergerational trauma, parking lot fights
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-18 17:21:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29861484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbianbean/pseuds/lesbianbean
Summary: The story of how Sam LaRusso saved the valley from the constantly repeating cycles of violence and compulsory heterosexuality, embraced her inner unhinged woman, and got the girl.
Relationships: Daniel LaRusso/Johnny Lawrence, Samantha LaRusso/Tory Nichols
Comments: 85
Kudos: 112





	1. Chapter 1

Sam LaRusso was a nice girl. That’s what her grandparents say, what her homeroom teachers have said since middle school, what the counselors at science camp tell her parents-- _She’s such a nice girl_. She cultivates the image like she cultivates the succulents in her bedroom window. She goes to karate practice and gets straight A’s and babysits Anthony and dates nice boys and sleepwalks through life. It’s good to be boring, boring means safe, boring means you don’t do stupid shit, like get involved in some inter-generational karate war. 

It’s working too. And then Tory Nichols comes along and blows that to smithereens. 

Sam isn’t sure what it is about the other girl that makes her so unable to think clearly. She usually thinks of herself as level-headed and practical and calm but Tory is just...a fucking bull in her china shop. Something about her makes Sam want to make terrible decisions. And, as it turns out, she’s as good at making bad decisions as she is at everything else she puts her mind to. The normal her would never drink more than a glass of punch at a party--she had listened to all the lectures on peer pressure, she _knew_ drinking games were a bad idea. Everything had been fine until she’d decided to climb up on the stool and lock eyes with that stupid, infuriating girl. 

It’s easier for Miguel and Demetri and the other boys. People are impressed by them, or at the very least they _get_ why they exist. With her, though, she always sees the confusion, the disdain. _A girl? Is that allowed?_ And then after the fight at school, it morphs into open contempt. She sees it on the faces of the girls who used to tolerate her, the boys who believed the lies Kyler spread about her, even the school counselor, who believed Hawk-- _Hawk_ \--over her. They don’t say it, but she can hear it in their heads-- _crazy bitch crazy bitch crazy bitch_. Or, even worse, _what a shame, she used to be such a nice girl_. She misses Aisha--without her she really is alone. 

Things change after December nineteenth. Now she has a goal to work towards--the All-Valley tournament. There’s a tentative truce between their dojo and Cobra Kai, and so she’s not on edge all the time at school. Her dad and Sensei Lawrence actually work together pretty well, but she and Miguel get used to taking over at least once a class when they get into an argument over some insignificant little detail. And, amazingly, things are good with Miguel. Unlike before, there’s not much post-breakup awkwardness, they come together with the easiness of old friends.  
“I don’t think I’m like, in a good place to date anyone right now,” she tells him one morning as they do sit-ups. “Not that I don’t like you! It’s just, like, a really bad time.”

“No, I totally get it.” He gives her his million-watt smile. “But we’re friends, right?”

She helps him to his feet. “Absolutely.”

* * *

There’s a long stretch of time after the brawl at her house when she doesn’t see Tory. That doesn’t mean she doesn’t think about her--the other girl is constantly in the back of her head when she’s practicing before she remembers she’s not supposed to be picturing an opponent when she fights (her dad and Sensei Lawrence had a shouting match over that that took so long she and Miguel just finished the class and sent everyone home). And sometimes she wakes up (on the nights where she actually sleeps) with her heart about to beat out of her chest and she knows she was dreaming about her, but she never remembers these dreams—possibly a byproduct of the melatonin gummies she’s been eating like actual candy. She’s also been biting her nails again, a habit she thought she had kicked in eighth grade. She’s fine. Really, she’s fine.

Then, near the end of January, she’s driving home and realizes she’s on snack duty for tomorrow’s practice. She could just blow it off, but Demetri was so passive-aggressive the last time she did that, and she’s not super eager to get home to another night of college application essays and insomnia, so she decides to kill a half-hour picking out a brand of crackers. There’s a 7/11 across the street from the Golf’n’Stuff, thankfully. 

She’s just about to settle on Triscuits, which she always ends up getting if she’s honest, when she hears Tory’s voice. 

“Yeah, can I get the mint ones?” 

Sam peeks around the corner and sees her in her work uniform. For a moment, she thinks she might be able to just slip out undetected, but then she bumps into an already-precarious display of whatever new abomination Oreos has come up with (key lime? seriously?) and knocks them over with a clatter. Tory whips around like a predator that’s scented blood and a slow smile spreads across her face. 

“Princess. Here for another ass-kicking?”

Sam’s heart is racing already, adrenaline pumping through her veins. The smart voice in her head, the one that normally has control of the steering wheel, starts barking instructions at her. _Run for the door. Say you don’t want any trouble. Call for backup_. Unfortunately, the smart voice is now apparently not in control, because Sam hears herself saying. “If I recall, I kicked your ass last time.”

“Please, I would have ruined you if you hadn’t had your little Miyagi-do posse for backup.”

Sam puts her hands on her hips and smirks confidently at the other girl. “That’s what a loser says.”

Tory stalks towards her, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Sounds like you’re looking for a rematch, LaRusso.” 

Normal Sam would have backed away, fumbled for her car keys, and bolted. Instead, she looks the other girl straight in her cold dark eyes and says— “So what if I am?”

Tory gives her a two-handed shove that further scatters the packs of oreos across the floor. The cashier clears his throat. “Um, can you two, um, take it outside?”

Sam almost walks out the door with the box of Triscuits, but then the cashier awkwardly clears his throat again and she shoves the box into his hands before following Tory. She knows he’s thinking _crazy bitch_ and she feels like one but instead of making her ashamed it just hardens her resolve to destroy Tory Nichols. 

Tory is on her the moment they’re outside, pouncing like a lioness stalking a deer, but Sam’s far from helpless prey. She stays on the defensive, drawing on the past few months of training. She manages to block most of Tory’s initial attack, but none of her blows land either. Tory rolls her eyes. 

“Come on, LaRusso. Fight back already. I’m getting bored.”

Sam manages to kick her in the side--not hard enough to injure unfortunately but enough that she counts it as a point to her. “Really? I could do this all night.”

Tory punches her in the shoulder, sending shooting pains through her arm, and she just manages to dodge before the other girl can grab her hair. “Please. You can’t fight on your own. None of you Miyagi-do pussies can.”

Sam kicks her into the side of a car, and Tory snarls. “You were saying?” She comes back at her, shoving them into the darker area between the 7/11 and the gas station that sits next to it. Sam feels almost giddy--after almost a month of drawn-out stalemate, of waiting for the other shoe to drop this is finally fucking happening. Tory goes to jab her in the solar plexus and she dodges, but it hits the soft place under her collarbone and she knows that’ll bruise. “Come on,” she pants. “I thought you cobras were tough.”

“ _God_ , why are you so obsessed with me?”

“ _I’m_ obsessed with you? You’re the one who literally broke into my fucking house.” 

Tory catches her wrist and twists it around behind her back, yanking up.“You’re the one who kissed my fucking boyfriend!”

“I was drunk! It was a terrible decision, but that doesn’t mean you had the right to try and fucking kill me.” She drops to her knees and spins, kicking Tory in the shins, and Tory curses and lets go of her wrist. 

“That wouldn’t have been a problem if you knew how to fucking fight back, princess.”

“If I recall, I won. Even after you fucking cheated. Maybe _you’re_ the one who doesn’t know how to fight, you ever thought of that?”

Tory’s glare doesn’t change but her stance wavers, just for a millisecond. “Shut up.” 

“You keep telling me this is my fault but I’m not the one who started the fight. You’re the reason I was drunk that night! Maybe if you could have just been fucking normal Miguel wouldn’t have gotten hurt. Everything was fine here until _you_ showed up.” She punctuates her statement with a roundhouse kick in Tory’s ribs. Tory stumbles backward, and she gets a moment of giddy triumph before she sees the absolutely _murderous_ look on the other girl’s face.

“Oh, I bet that’s easy, isn’t it. You just blame everything that’s wrong with you on me, so you never have to consider if _you’re_ the poison.” Tory lunges again, shoving Sam into the side of the building. She hits the wall so hard she can’t breathe for a moment. Tory’s hand is around her throat, and she leans in to hiss the words into Sam’s ear. “I’m just the only one who will actually tell you you’re the fuckup you are, princess.”  
  
“Shut the hell up!”

“Make me.”

The atmosphere between them suddenly shifts somehow--Sam isn’t quite sure how to describe it. It’s more intimate, charged, like the experiments she used to do with static electricity. Tory glances down at her lips, and then Sam grabs a handful of her bad dye job and crushes their mouths together. She’s half-expecting Tory to take advantage, to try and snap her neck or elbow her in the kidney but Tory, amazingly, kisses her back, pressing her harder into the wall, a knee between her legs and-- _oh_. 

_So that’s what it’s supposed to feel like_ , says a little voice in the back of her head. 

She yanks on Tory’s hair and Tory moans. The sound makes something uncoil in the pit of her stomach. They’re both panting when they break apart. Tory’s lips are swollen and the look on her face makes Sam want to kiss her again, but Tory is stepping back.  
“LaRusso...” Tory shakes her head, wiping the back of her hand over her mouth. “Just go.”  
Sam runs.

* * *

Sam slips into the house, and thanks to some fucking miracle her mom and Anthony don’t notice her, closes the door to her room, locks it, and pushes a chair in front of the door, even though she didn’t really know why. _God, what did I just do?_ She falls onto her bed, touching her lips, where she can still taste Tory’s cheap cherry-flavored lipstick on her mouth. _What the hell was that?_

It’s like she’s discovered something secret, some hidden room in her mind that was always locked tightly, but now the door is wide open. She’s kissed boys before, but kissing Robby and Miguel and Kyler never made her feel the way kissing Tory felt. Her heart was pounding like she’d just run a marathon, she could hear it in her ears, feel it in her throat and between her legs. This was...she suddenly understood why people were willing to start wars over this feeling because she felt so fucking... _awake_. 

* * *

The next day is anticlimactic. She covers up the bruise on her face with concealer--thankfully it’s not that bad--and goes through school and karate practice without paying attention to any of it. Her father and Sensei Lawrence could have murdered each other and she probably wouldn’t have even looked up. No one seems to notice that she’s tuned out, which might have hurt her feelings, but she’s too busy thinking about the sound Tory made when she pulled her hair. 

Three more days drag by in the same stifling way. On the third day, she catches herself typing “am i gay quiz” into her phone and throws it across the room in disgust. 

_Okay. New plan._

“Do you need a ride home?”

Tory glares at her. “Why the hell are you offering?”

“Because it’s a nice thing to do. I’m a nice person.”

“We’re not friends, LaRusso.”

“Fine. Walk home. See if I care.” She’s about to pull away and regroup when Tory opens the door and jumps into the passenger seat.

“Buckle your seatbelt.”

“What are you, my mother?”

“My car, my rules. Safety first.”

“Make me.” They both tense up, clearly remembering the last time Tory said that. 

“Tory, I--”

“Don’t say it.” 

“You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“I don’t care what you were going to say, LaRusso. As far as I’m concerned, what happened a week ago never happened.” She shoots Sam a look that makes the scars on her arm tingle.

“I just think--”

“Shut the hell up or I _will_ grab that steering wheel and drive us both into traffic.” 

“Fine.” She hits the brakes harder than she needs to at the next red light and Tory nearly flies into the dashboard. She fumbles for her seatbelt. 

“You’re not a nice person, LaRusso.”

“When you don’t die in a car accident you’ll thank me.”

Tory lives in a nondescript apartment complex. Sam is surprised by this--she realizes she’s been picturing Tory sleeping in a coffin or something. Tory is out of the car before she’s even put the brakes on. Sam leans out the window. 

“How about a thank you?”

“How about you eat shit, LaRusso?”

“Honey? Is that you?” Tory freezes at the voice, and her face changes in an instant. She spins around, tossing her hair over her shoulder. 

“Mom! You’re out of bed.”

“I wanted to take out the trash.”

Tory grabs the bag out of the other woman’s hands. “I told you I’d do it, you don’t have to.”

“I wanted to do it for you. You’ve been working so hard recently.” Tory’s mother is shorter than her, and so thin she seems almost brittle. Her hair is the same color as her daughter’s but patchy and greying. Sam can see an IV port in the crook of her arm. Her eyes light up when she sees Sam. “Oh, is this a friend of yours?”

“Y-yeah!” Tory shoots Sam a desperate look. “She gave me a ride home.” 

“That’s so nice. It’s wonderful to meet you--”

“Sam. Sam LaRusso.” Sam climbs out of the car, politeness overriding every other instinct.

“Oh, what a pretty name! I’d shake your hand but I just took out the garbage.”

“It’s wonderful to meet you, Mrs. Nichols.”

“Call me ‘Marjorie,’ dear.” She beams at Sam like Sam’s done something far more difficult than just drive her daughter home. “It’s so nice to meet one of my daughter’s friends. She spends so much time at work, I worry that she doesn’t know anyone her own age. She never brings her friends home” Tory looks more uncomfortable than Sam has ever seen her. She wishes she could take a picture. “Do you like stir-fry? I was making it as a surprise for Tory, and if you don’t have any plans, we’d love to have you eat with us.”

“Mom, I’m sure Sam has other things--”

“--I’d love to.” Sam smiles at Tory’s mother. “Thank you for the invitation.”

* * *

The stir-fry is really good. Tory chats about the ongoing problem caused by a break-up between two of her colleagues at work with an almost manic intensity. Sam mostly nods and eats, occasionally complementing Tory’s mother on her cooking. She _could_ talk about the horrible impact that a bad breakup had on _her_ life, but it’s much more fun to let Tory twist on the line.

“You’re such a nice girl,” Marjorie says. “How did you two meet?”

“We were lab partners!” Tory’s voice is just a hair too loud. Sam nods, smirking at Tory. 

“Yup. She was just the _best_ too. Really knew the formulas.” Tory kicks her under the table. 

Before dessert (brownies with vanilla ice cream), Marjorie disappears down the hallway to the bathroom. The moment she’s gone, Tory grabs Sam’s arm, gripping so hard she winces. “If you tell her _anything_ about the fight--”

“--you’ll kill me?”

Tory looks furious that she’s failing to intimidate her. “I’ll torture you first.”

“Will you calm down? I’m not going to tell a sick woman her daughter is a sociopath.” Tory squeezes harder at that and Sam winces. “I would cool it on the violence, though. If you break my arm, I think she’ll notice.” 

“I _hate_ you, LaRusso.”

“The feeling is very much mutual. But I’m not taking it out on your mom.” 

After dessert, Marjorie presses a tupperware full of brownies onto Sam and hugs her. “It was so wonderful to meet you.”

Sam almost wishes that she was actually Tory’s friend because it feels unbelievably shitty to lie to this genuinely kind woman who just happened to have the worst person in the world as a daughter. 

Tory walks her out to the car. “You better bring that tupperware back.”

“Do you think I was raised in a barn?” Tory shoves her and then glances over her shoulder to see if her mother is watching out the window. Sam carefully considers her next words. “Look, your mom, is she--”

Tory grabs her arm again and spins her around, pressing her against the side of her car that faces away from the apartment building. “Don’t you _ever_ talk about her.”

“I was just--”

“I don’t want your fucking pity, LaRusso! If you want to feel like a saint, go volunteer at a soup kitchen.”

“It’s not pity, she’s a good person and--”

“ _Don’t._ ”

She nods. “Okay. You gonna let go of me now?”

Tory seems to become aware of how close they are, so close that the tupperware is pressed between them. She glances down at Sam’s mouth, the same way she did that night in the 7/11 parking lot, and Sam feels the same electric desperate _need_ she felt then. Tory takes a step back, clearly remembering too, and clears her throat. “Nice car.” She says it like an insult.

“Thanks.” She’s about to get in, but something she doesn’t completely understand makes her turn back to Tory. “You want to go for a ride? The seats go all the way back.”

Tory looks genuinely surprised, although not nearly as much as Sam is at herself. “ _Damn_ , princess. I didn’t know you had it in you.”

Sam can feel her own face heating up. “Well?”

Tory looks her up and down and for a long embarrassing moment she thinks she’ll be driving home alone with just the tupperware of brownies. But then the other girl shrugs. “Sure. Why not.”

There’s a quiet stretch of road overlooking the ocean where Sam used to go when she needed a moment to herself after school. It’s mostly nondescript, but it’s one of the few places in LA where she could see more than three stars. 

Tory looks out the window and chuckles. “You’re not going to murder me here, LaRusso?”

Sam turns off the headlights and unbuckles her seatbelt, climbing over to straddle Tory’s lap. “You don’t get to judge when it comes to attempted murder, Nichols.”

“Oh, come on. I wouldn’t have killed you.”

Somehow she doubts that. _This is a terrible idea_ , the practical voice in her head says. She ignores it. “Sure.” 

Tory reaches behind her, and Sam gasps as the seat reclines with a jolt, and then they’re kissing again and Sam doesn’t fucking _care_ that this is a terrible idea because Tory is unbuttoning her cardigan and running her hand over her spine. She shudders and Tory smirks at her. 

“You like that, princess?”

Sam hates that the low, teasing way she says _princess_ makes her want more, makes her ache in a way that she didn’t think she was capable of aching. She pulls Tory’s hair to get revenge, remembering last time, and gets some satisfaction from the resulting moan. 

Afterwards she drives Tory back to her apartment. They don’t talk--it feels like doing so will shatter the bubble they’re both in where the rival dojos and ex-boyfriends and school-wide brawls don’t exist. Sam parks in the same spot she was in two hours ago and looks over at Tory, who is on her phone, nonchalant as anything. 

“So, do you...are you free any other time this week?”

“Oh my god, LaRusso. Are you trying to schedule another hookup?”

Sam can feel her cheeks heat up. “Fine, never mind.” 

A wadded-up piece of paper hits her in the head, and then Tory climbs out of the car. “Don’t get clingy, princess.”

She’s disappeared inside before Sam can respond. The paper is in her lap and she uncrumples it. It’s a Golf’N’Stuff receipt with a phone number scrawled on it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the Cobra Kai writers gave us a lawrusso parallel but with girls and expected me to not go completely apeshit. Welp, I DID go completely apeshit and this was the result.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *that's my girl dot mp3*

She plans to wait a week to text Tory. She makes it three days. 

[Hey, this is Sam.]

[Who?]

[Sam LaRusso]

[Doesn’t ring a bell]

[I gave you a ride home. We had dinner with your mom?]

[I think this is the wrong number]

[All right, sorry]

[I’m fucking with you, LaRusso.]

[God, you’re the fucking worst] Sam doesn’t plan on texting back after that (really) but then her phone vibrates again. 

[I get off work at 7pm tomorrow. If you can stand to tear yourself away from your homework.]

Sam tells herself she’s not going to hang out in the 7/11 parking lot at seven waiting to see if Tory shows up, and she keeps telling herself that right up until she’s buying two cherry-flavored slurpees. The cashier gives her a weird look, and she realizes he probably remembers her from before. 

“Thank you.”

“Um, I have to remind you that we discourage fighting on 7/11 property--”

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that.”

“We have a policy--” 

“Are you serious, LaRusso?” Sam’s stomach flips at the sound of her voice. The cashier looks like he’s contemplating the sweet release of death. 

“I got you one.” She holds it out like a peace offering. 

Tory takes a sip and rolls her eyes. “I hate cherry.” 

Sam remembers the taste of her lipstick but says nothing. 

“I have to ask you two to leave, we have security cameras and--”

“Jesus, calm down.” Tory grabs Sam’s arm, her thumb just brushing one of the scars, sending a jolt of terror-arousal through her. “We’re going. And if you tell anyone about this, remember I know where you live.”

Sam glances over her shoulder as Tory drags her out of the store. “That wasn’t very nice, he was just doing his job.”

“If he gets me arrested then the landlord throws my mom and little brother out on the street, princess.” She takes a gulp of her slurpee as they climb into Sam’s car. “If you’re gonna come at me with your rich-girl morals you can just drop me off at home.”

Sam feels a twinge of guilt, but she suspects Tory would rather die than have her sympathy. “Okay, asshole.”

Tory turns on the radio and scrolls through the music options, looking over at Sam. “Janelle Monáe?”

“Yeah, she’s great.”

“You have a correct opinion for once. Color me shocked.”

They don’t talk much after that--Sam drives to the overlook and turns off the car and they steam up the windows together. Tory’s lips taste like cherry and hers do too because of the slurpee, and she wants to drown in the other girl, to feel her and nothing else. 

“God, you want this bad. Don’t you, LaRusso?”

“Shut up,” she pants, trying to get Tory’s hideous polyester work blouse off in the half-light. “You’re the one who texted me.”

“There’s nothing else to do in this shitty town.” Tory gasps when Sam bites her shoulder and Sam wishes she could somehow preserve the sound and the triumphant feeling it gave her in amber and wear it like a necklace. 

* * *

Tory sends her another text two days later. Sam is prepared. “What the hell is this?”

“It’s the tupperware you gave me.”

“Yeah, I know. What’s in it?”

“Chocolate-oat chip cookies. They’re my mom’s recipe.”

“Why the hell would you ruin perfectly good chocolate chip cookies like that?”

“Fine. Excuse me for trying to be polite.” Sam grabs for the tupperware but Tory holds it over her head. 

“Easy, princess. Look, my mom will be thrilled, all right?” Tory tosses the container in the backseat and Sam uses the brief moment of distraction to pin her down on the seat and get her revenge.

* * *

Miguel catches her wrist and twists it behind her back. She manages to slip away but he avoids her kick, knocking her onto her ass. 

“Nice.”

“Thank you.” He helps her to her feet and they take their positions again. 

“Miss LaRusso, your offense is shit.” Sensei Lawrence watches her and Miguel circle each other. She dodges Miguel’s kick and blocks a punch to her ribs. “Mr. Diaz left his left side open there, why didn’t you take it?” Sam does a hook kick, aiming at his left side. Miguel is aware of the kick coming but still shifts slightly trying to block it. Sam eyes under his right arm. She could go in with another punch, or she could focus on blocking Miguel’s jab at her shoulder. She goes to block it, and Miguel feints, kicking her leg out from under her. Sensei Lawrence keeps talking. “You can’t stay on defense forever. Mr. Diaz, what happens if you don’t move forward?”

Miguel holds out his hand and she grabs it, letting him pull her to her feet. “We get stuck in place, Sensei.”

She elbows him. “Teacher’s pet.”

“Sore loser.” They both laugh. Sensei Lawrence looks like he’s debating whether or not to scold them, but then Bert provides a handy distraction by falling into the pond. 

* * *

After a week of freezing in place every time they see headlights they decide to switch up locations--mostly drive-ins that are far enough out of town that they won’t be recognized. It turns out that Tory also loves In-N-Out, and there are several with giant parking lots they can find secluded corners in.

“Stop hogging the fries, LaRusso.” Tory reaches over her for a paper napkin. There’s a bandage wrapped around the knuckles on her right hand.

“How’d that happen?”

“How do you think?” Sam thinks back to her dad and Sensei Lawrence arguing over how much physical contact is acceptable for practice fights.

“Does it hurt?”

“It’s supposed to hurt. If you don’t get hurt, you don’t learn.” _It’s not about violence_ , she remembers her dad saying, and Sensei Lawrence rolling his eyes. Tory clearly sees she’s about to say something similar because she punches her in the shoulder. “LaRusso, I swear if you’re about to lecture me about nonviolence--”

“Do you want to spar?”

Tory looks surprised, although she isn’t as surprised as Sam is at herself. “What?”

“Well, you know, we’re probably going to have to fight again. At the tournament.”

“Yes, which is a good reason for me to _not_ want to give away my technique.”

“I’m good at what you’re bad at.”

“What?”

“I’m good at defense. Great at it. As you’re aware. And your defense is bad.”

“Defense is boring.”

“It’s important. But so is offense.”

“Oh.” Tory laughs. “Your offense absolutely sucks ass. Seriously, I don’t know how you’re not dead, given all the shit you like to stir up.”

Sam tries to keep her temper from boiling over. “You learn about defense from me. I learn about offense from you. We both get better. Then in April, when we face each other, we’ll both be better fighters. It’s like, you know, mutually assured destruction.”

Tory slurps up the last few drops of her slurpee. “Are you really that desperate for me to kick your ass again, LaRusso?”

“You’re talking mad shit for someone who lost both our last fights.”

“You cheated!”

“What, are you scared?”

“Okay, you know what, it’s fucking on.” Tory reaches for the door and then looks around, realizing they’re in an In-N-Out parking lot. “Not here, obviously.”

“Obviously.” Sam is realizing she doesn’t actually know a good place to practice fighting. Tory seems to realize this and rolls her eyes. 

“Get on the highway, drive for about five miles and then take a left turn, okay? There’s a path down to the beach.”

Sparring with Tory is almost more intense than kissing her. Since they’re not actively trying to kill each other, she has time to observe her style. And Tory is fucking _brutal_ , even more than the former Cobra Kais she practices with. Her dad always told her to stay loose and focus on reacting, not acting. _Let them come to you_ , he told her a week ago as they practiced. 

Tory, somewhat predictably, is the opposite of that. She’s an offensive fighter, of course, but the way she carries herself is what’s interesting. Tory is a live wire-- swift and vicious, with every muscle tensed. She wonders if it’s exhausting, carrying that much energy, keeping it tangled inside of you like a snarl. 

“Are you ever going to fucking attack me, LaRusso?”

“I don’t need to. I just need to wait.”

“Right. That’s how you win. By waiting.”

Sam drops to the ground, hooking her leg out, and Tory hits the sand with a satisfying _thud_. “You were saying?”

“All right, very funny.” She holds up her hand like she wants Sam to help her up, and Sam, idiot that she is, takes it. Tory yanks her to the ground and moves quickly, pinning her down, her eyes gleaming with that predatory-lioness look. “Caught you.”

Sam shivers. She knows she should be annoyed but the stupid horny part of her brain that takes over whenever Tory touches her is extremely giddy about this situation. She leans up to kiss her, and Tory covers her lips with one finger. “Oh no. Not this time. First, you tell me I won.” 

“You’re being extremely immature.”

“Tell me, princess.”

“Fine. You won.” Tory smirks and Sam kisses her so she doesn’t have to look at it. 

* * *

She finger-combs sand out of her hair as she drives home. It’s going to be a nightmare to get it out of her car seats, she’ll have to spend an hour tomorrow with the shop-vac. The clock says it’s half-past midnight, and she’s hoping that her dad is asleep. He usually goes to bed early on the weekends she and Anthony stay with him so he can be up early making pancakes for them. She takes off her shoes after parking outside his condo, ready to do her “slip in under the radar” routine. The door is unlocked. 

_That’s odd_. Her dad is always careful to lock up after he gets in.

“Sam?” A hand grabs her shoulder from behind. 

“Jesus!” She swipes out before processing who the voice belongs to. “Dad?” She turns on the foyer light and sure enough, it’s him, one hand over his eye. 

“That’s my girl,” he says wryly. “Although if it was actually a home invader you should go for the nose.”

“Sorry my aim wasn’t perfect, the light was off.” 

“A true master doesn’t need light to know where their opponent is. Oh, that’s a good lesson idea.” His phone is already half out of his pocket like he’s ready to jot the idea down in his Notes app, and then he apparently processes the situation, and his “serious Dad” face returns. “Why on earth are you coming home late?”

She thinks about how she must look--her mouth is swollen, she’s covered in sand, and she knows that just under her collar is the hickey Tory left like a brand. “I was on the beach. I just went there to read for a bit, and I fell asleep.”

Her father raises an eyebrow. “Really? What book?”

“Um.” She’s read a book a week since second grade and she suddenly can’t remember the names of any of them. “You know. The one we have to read for class. _The Great Gatsby_.”

“I thought you read that freshman year.”

“Yeah, we’re reading it again.”

“Where’s the book?”

“I left it in the car.” She thinks fast. “What are you doing up so late?” It’s a stupid defense tactic, her dad doesn’t have a curfew or homework he’s blowing off. But suddenly he looks uncomfortable. 

“I just, um, couldn’t sleep. I guess I drank too much coffee today.” Sam really looks at him. He’s wearing the nice blue jacket he bought a few months ago, but the buttons on his shirt are bunched up oddly, and his hair looks disheveled, and suddenly Sam is convinced he was on a date. She decides to wonder about who the mystery woman is later and grab onto this out before her father continues his interrogation. 

“Yeah, insomnia sucks. Anyway, I’m gonna shower. Night!” She kisses his cheek and bolts for her room. 

She showers and texts Tory. 

[I almost got caught sneaking into the house]

[Why should I give a shit?]

 _Ah. So she’s awake too._ [I think my dad’s seeing someone]

[Again, why exactly are you telling me this?]

[I can’t exactly tell anyone else I’m sneaking into the house, asshole]

[LMAO. You know he’s probably seeing a woman who’s like 20 years younger than him? That’s what rich divorced pricks do]

[My dad’s not like that]

[All rich people are the same, princess. Why do you think he’s not telling you he’s seeing someone? He doesn’t want you to murder her]

[You know most people don’t respond to a situation with “I’m going to commit murder”]

[You’re extremely boring, so I’m going to sleep. Pick me up at 5:30 tomorrow if you want me to kick your ass again]

[Good night] She sends a cherry emoji, mostly to see what Tory will respond with.

A knife emoji. Of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tfw you and your dad run into each other in the foyer at midnight b/c you've both been out with your Nemesis


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fighting a bunch of people with your Nemesis is something that can be so personal

This is a bad idea. She _knows_ it’s a bad idea. She gets in her car and drives out to Tory’s apartment and thinks _this is a bad idea_ the entire time. 

Hasn’t she earned the right to have bad ideas? Seventeen years of being the good kid, the careful daughter, the girl with the perfect attendance record?

Their meetings have gone from twice a week to nearly every night. She knows she’s playing Russian roulette with her parents--there’s only so many times she can say she’s practicing at the beach or at the library or out with friends before they figure it out, but she also can’t stop. 

“You seem tired,” Miguel says as they lead warmups. “Are you doing okay?”

“Just college applications, you know?”

“Yeah.” He eyes the band-aid on her neck. “How’d that happen?”

“I, um, scratched myself. While I was doing sit-ups.” She remembers Tory leaning over her, her mouth on her throat. 

Miguel looks skeptical but lets it go. 

“I’m getting weird looks at practice,” she tells Tory that night, in the parking lot of their In-N-Out after three hours of sparring. “Maybe you could cool it with the hickies?”

Tory licks the french fry grease off her fingers in a way that Sam finds frustratingly attractive. “Oh no, what would Daddy say if he knew his little princess was slutting around in the snake pit?”

“Please don’t ever say the word ‘daddy’ again. Just erase it from your vocabulary forever.”

Tory smirks at her. “It’s all right, Mr. LaRusso. Your daughter calls me daddy too.”

“I’m going to kill you!” Sam lunges at Tory, who cackles maniacally.

* * *

“Sam?” 

She jolts awake. “Sorry, Moon. Was up late last night, you know?”

Moon smiles sympathetically. “Are you worried about the tournament?”

Sam’s stomach churns about the thought of the tournament, and she takes another gulp of her coffee. It does nothing for her nerves. “No, it’s just...you know, AP classes. Anyway, what were you asking about? I zoned out there for a second there.” 

“Have you decided on a prom dress? We wanted to go shopping this weekend.”

Sam hadn’t even thought about prom. She’d bookmarked some dresses last summer back when she thought she might be going with Robby, and there was one she remembered--light blue with a wide skirt and sequins. For a moment she flashes into her usual daydream about prom--the dress, the corsage, the music, her date. And then she realizes who she’s picturing as her date and the daydream grinds to a screeching halt. 

* * *

“Turn left.” Sam glances over at Tory. They’re in a part of Los Angeles she’s never been to before, and she knows enough to know her parents would both ground her for the foreseeable future if they knew she was there. But they didn’t.

“You’re not taking me here to kill me, right?”

“If I was going to kill you, you’d know, LaRusso. Park here.”  
They’re in the parking lot of a nondescript building. Sam wonders if it’s some kind of secret underground fight club. 

“Are you gonna tell me where we are?”

“I thought you liked surprises.”

“Not if they involve me getting knifed in a parking lot.”

“Do you want me to hold your hand, princess?”

“Fuck you.”

Tory jumps out of the car, her hair swinging behind her.

“Wait, is this a nightclub?”

“No, it’s a yoga studio.” 

Sam glances down at her lavender workout leggings and navy zip-up sweater. “Why didn’t you tell me to dress for that?”

“Because all of your clothes suck and I figured you’d look worse if you stressed about it.” She looks at Sam’s face and rolls her eyes. “Oh, relax. You’re fine. Well--” Tory looks her up and down. “Okay, lose the sweater.” 

Sam unzipped it. She had thrown on a white sleeveless shirt underneath--an old favorite for sparring. Tory’s eyes dart over to the scars on her arm, more visible than usual in the flatly lit parking lot, and she barely resists covering them with her hand. 

“Yeah, that shirt’s better. Hold on.” She steps closer, boxing Sam in between her and the car, and reaches up, tugging Sam’s hair out of its bun and running her fingers through it. She shivers at the feeling of Tory’s short nails on her scalp, and Tory smirks at her and then reaches into the tiny clutch on her wrist. “Don’t move, princess.” She pulls out a tube of lipstick and carefully puts it on Sam, one hand on the car behind her head. “Do this.” She presses her lips together, and Sam mirrors her. “Good girl.” She brushes some mascara onto Sam’s eyelashes while Sam tries to process _that_ , and then steps back, smirking confidently. “Come on, let’s go.”

It takes Sam a second to snap out of whatever extremely turned-on haze that the makeover put her in. She sprints after Tory, cursing internally. “What if they card us?”

“I’m a regular and you’re with me.” She linked arms with Sam. “Just try to look cool and laid-back. So not like that, basically.”

The skinny bored-looking guy at the door does in fact wave them in without even glancing at Tory’s ID. 

The bar itself is small and grimy looking, lit by flashing blue and pink lights. Tory heads for the bar, pulling Sam behind her, and smiles at the bartender. “Two California Sunsets, on her.” She jerks her thumb at Sam. 

“I have to drive.” 

“There’s like a thimbleful of rum in them, grow up.” 

The bartender, an older woman with short silver hair, slides the drinks across the counter, side-eyeing Tory. “This your girlfriend, Nichols?”

Tory looks almost embarrassed by that, which gives Sam a shot of confidence. “She’s my sugar baby.” She hands the woman her credit card. 

“Shut up.” Tory shoves her. “We’re mortal enemies. I beat her ass one time and now she won’t stop following me around.”

“And I pay for her to be my arm candy.”

The bartender nods, looking amused. “Okay. Let me know if you need refills, kids.”

Sam turns to her as the bartender leaves. “She knows we’re underage?”

“She’s not gonna say anything. Just put on your big girl panties and drink.”

“If we get caught--”

“We won’t. You know I’m not gonna bring you places if you kill my buzz.”

“I hate you.”

“Likewise.” They drink their cocktails, which taste like the Hawaiian Fruit Punch that she used to drink at class parties. Tory uses the umbrella on her drink to spear one of the maraschino cherries that float in the drink and pop it in her mouth. Sam can’t help but stare at her. Tory looks over at her. “Like what you see, LaRusso?”

She can taste cherry on her lips, from the drink, and from Tory’s lipstick. “You said you didn’t like cherry.”  
  
”You fixate on the weirdest details.” Tory takes another sip of her drink and then grabs Sam’s hand. “Come on.”

Sam hesitates. “Are we going to dance? I’ve never--”

“They don’t teach you how to dance at the country club, princess?” She smirks, pulling Sam along. “Look, just follow my lead. I’ll hold your hand.”

“Fuck you.” 

Tory smirks at her, and then they’re dancing. Sam tries to mirror what she sees other dancers doing and not fall on her face. There thankfully aren’t a bunch of complicated steps, it’s more about moving to the beat. It’s not that different from fighting, really. Tory spins around, her hair cascading over her shoulder like dominos, and for a moment she’s so beautiful Sam can’t breathe. She tries a spin too, and Tory laughs, and this is...it’s fun. Another song comes on, some stupid pop number that’s been on the radio nonstop for the past few weeks, and they shout the lyrics along with the rest of the club, laughing the whole time. 

When they stumble off the dance floor two hours later they’re both giddy, leaning on each other. Sam can feel the strip of bare skin between Tory’s red tank top and her black pants when she wraps her arm around her waist and Tory shivers at the touch. “You want another drink, sugar baby?”

Tory shoves her. “ _God_ , I can’t take you anywhere.”

The bartender raises her eyebrows when she sees the two of them again and slides two more California Sunsets across the bar. “Ladies.”

This feels like a date, Sam realizes. It’s the first time that they’ve been together in _public_ , not hiding on the beach or in her car or in a parking lot. She looks over at Tory again, wondering if Tory wanted people to see them together. _I’m a regular and you’re with me._ “Hey. Am I the first girl you’ve brought here?”

“Why do you want to know, princess?” Tory’s eyes suddenly focus over her shoulder and her smile drops off her face. 

“What’s going on?”

“Those guys just dropped something in that girl’s drink. Look over your shoulder, at two o’clock.”

“Two o’clock?”

Tory rolls her eyes. “Fucking Miyagi-do, what do they even teach you there? Okay. The two beefy white guys talking to the girl in purple.”

Sam bristles and glances over her shoulder. “Yeah, I see them.”

They look at each other for a moment. Sam recognizes the look on Tory’s face, it’s the same expression she has when they’re sparring and she’s trying to decide what move to make next. “LaRusso, pretend to be drunk. Go up and hug her and say you recognized her and knock over her drink. I’ll follow and apologize. We flank her, get her out of here, and put her in an uber.”

“Why do _I_ have to be drunk?”

“I thought ‘drunk idiot who makes bad decisions’ wouldn’t be much of a reach for you.”

There’s no time to argue. Sam sighs. “Okay, fine.” 

* * *

It goes off without a hitch. The woman--Jessica--is initially confused, but by the time they’re out of the club she’s got her arms around both of them like they’re old friends. 

“You two are my angels,” she says as Sam helps her into the car. “Thank you.”

Sam smiles at her. “It was great to meet you.”

“Just get home safe,” Tory says shortly, slamming the door before Jessica can respond. Sam looks up at her as the car drives away. 

“What was that about?”

“We got company.”

Sam looks over at the entrance to the bar. The two men from the bar are standing there, glaring at them. _Shit_. “Let’s run for the car.” 

“Not gonna work, LaRusso.” Tory jerks her head to the side, and Sam sees a third man standing in the middle of the parking lot. He’s holding what looks like an iron bar.

“You girls like sticking your noses where they don’t belong, huh?”

Sam crosses her arms. “You’re lucky we didn’t call the cops.”

Tory stomps on her foot. “Shut up and let me handle this.” She smiles at the man, a sweet artificial expression that Sam doesn’t recognize but senses Tory has used before and she suddenly wants to kill every man who’s made her have to smile like that. “Listen, we don’t want any trouble.”

“Really? Why’d your little girlfriend threaten to call the cops?”  
  
Sam opens her mouth and Tory stomps on her foot again. “Look, she’s not from around here. We’re not gonna call the cops.”

“Damn right you’re not.” The other man crosses his arms. “You girls clearly need a lesson about how things are done around here.” Sam can hear footsteps behind her and she suddenly realizes just how fucking screwed they are. She reaches in her pocket for her phone, ready to do the SOS emergency call thing, when Tory pushes her out of the way and roundhouse kicks one of the men in the face. 

_Okay_ , Sam thinks, grabbing another man’s wrist. _So we’re doing this_. And then all she can think is _shit shit shit fuck_ but her body knows how to respond, instinct baked into her from both years of her father drilling _wax on wax off_ into her head and weeks of fighting with Tory, of _knowing_ Tory. Well, if she wants to be technical she’s never fought _with_ Tory, only against her, and she really wishes their first time was one where they didn’t stand the risk of fucking dying. And of course, Tory practically has a fucking death wish, throwing herself at the toughest-looking guy, and Sam has to have her back. She stops a guy who goes for Tory’s head and the iron bar clatters onto the pavement. Tory snatches it up and snaps _duck_ at her and hurls it at one of the men, nailing him in the head. He goes down like a ton of bricks. 

_We’re gonna fucking win_ she thinks as she drives her elbow into a man’s head. They move around each other like they’re still in the club dancing but this is far more intense because this is _real_ and it’s _them_. She kicks the last guy’s legs out from under him as Tory punches him in the nose and he falls, leaving the two of them staring at each other, breathless. 

“Fuck.” The man scrambles backward on his elbows and then staggers to his feet. They both tense instinctively again, but the fight has gone out of him. “You fucking crazy bitches!”

 _Crazy bitch_. The words ring in Sam’s head as he sprints away. _Holy shit,_ she thinks. _What the hell did we just do?_ She turns to Tory. “Are you fucking insane? Did you see the size of that guy?”

“I didn’t have much of an option after you threatened to call the fucking cops. Were you _trying_ to get us killed?”

“We could have run for the car!”

“Oh my god, is your fucking answer for everything just ‘run away?’”

“It’s my answer when it’s four on two!”

“You people are so fucking spineless.”

“ _Excuse_ me?”

“I don’t just get to run away from everything. Most people don’t! Sometimes, and this might shock you, you need to actually face things!”

“I’ve faced plenty. You’ve made sure of that.”

“Oh, of _course_ you’d throw that in my face!”

“You tried to kill me!”

“Like you didn’t start it off by trying to get me framed for stealing and trying to fuck my boyfriend.” 

“I had nightmares and panic attacks for _months_ because of you!” The words spill out and they’re not angry, they’re _hurt_ , which is worse because if she’s hurt that means Tory has the capacity to hurt her, something she knows that a smart person would keep from their opponent. Tory takes a step back, her eyes going wide with shock.

“Sam--”

“Just get in the car.” She stalks toward the driver’s side, squeezing her eyes shut. They’re burning, both from the adrenaline and the screaming match, but she won’t cry in front of Tory.

They ride in silence for fifteen extremely tense minutes. It’s quiet and the air between them is staticky and tight, like the air in their backyard right before a lightning bolt hit the old tree that Sam used to climb. The adrenaline from the fight is still pounding through her veins and she feels almost feverish with some strange crackling energy. And then Tory turns to her. 

“Pull over.”

“I shouldn’t have said I’d call the cops.”

“LaRusso, shut up and fucking _pull over_.” 

Sam does, wondering if Tory is going to get out and walk the next ten miles home, or try to strangle her. She brakes and Tory grabs her face in both her hands, stares into her eyes for a moment, and kisses her. _Oh_. The kiss is like a spark to kindling, transforming everything from the evening--the cherry lipstick, the dancing, the fight, the and the hurt anger--into _desire_. Sam fumbles for her seatbelt and in a moment she’s scrambling to get in Tory’s lap, trying to get her top over her head as she does. It’s dark and they both taste like cherry and the shitty bar cocktails and adrenaline and Tory’s lip is bleeding and all that does is make it feel more real, like they’re the only real two in a crowd of thousands, like everyone else on this lonely road, in this whole shitty fucking _town_ is asleep and they’re the only ones who are awake.

Afterwards Sam drives them to the closest 7/11, even though Tory insists that she’s fine because she saw the bruises blooming on her ribs and knows from experience how much they hurt. She buys a bag of ice and Neosporin and Tylenol while Tory buys slurpees, getting the largest size because she knows Sam is paying. The cashier looks a little afraid of them, and Sam catches a glimpse of her face in the security camera and can’t blame him--Tory’s lipstick is smeared on her face, there’s a nasty bruise on her cheek and her clothes and hair are a mess. Normally she’d be embarrassed because she knows she’s thinking _crazy bitch_ but she’s too high on the night to care. 

“Here you go.” Tory hands her a slurpee. She smiles when she tastes it.

“Cherry?”

“Shut up.”

She makes Tory hold the ice pack on her ribs as they pull out of the 7/11 parking lot.

“It’s cold.”

“It’ll feel better tomorrow if you get ice on that now. I know you have practice.” Tory rolled her eyes. Sam is waiting for another jab at the Miyagi-do’s apparently “pussy” standards for injuries, but the other girl is silent for a moment, staring at her. “What?”

“I shouldn’t have tried to kill you.”

Sam is so surprised she almost misses their exit. “I--um. Thank you?” Tory doesn’t respond. “Oh, was that a hard thing to admit?”

“Shut up.”

It’s quiet for a moment, and then Sam sucks in a deep breath. “I’m sorry I kissed Miguel.” Tory nods. “Even though you got me drunk.”

“You chose to hop up on that stool, LaRusso.”

“I didn’t like Robby.” Sam has no idea why that came out of her mouth. “I mean I did, just not that way. We were holding hands and kissing and he clearly was head over heels for me and it just felt...wrong. Like, fake. I felt so fucking fake. And then I saw you guys at the rink and--I don’t know I couldn't stop staring at your fucking arms in that top and I thought I must be jealous of you dating Miguel, because we’d dated before and it made sense to be jealous of him and then I got drunk and I saw him and I thought maybe I’ll feel what I’m supposed to feel if I kiss him but I didn’t even feel it then. I just thought that no one ever felt it, that they were all making it up. But I don’t know, maybe that’s just me. Maybe I just don’t like kissing boys.”

She realizes just how unhinged she must sound and takes a gulp of her slurpee so she won’t keep talking. Tory is staring at her like she’s grown a second head. She’s frozen in place for a moment, terrified that Tory is going to laugh at her, even more terrified that she’s going to be disgusted the same way the girls in the high school locker room are when they talk about girls like her. Because she just said it for the first time what she’s known for months now, maybe even years that she’s _like that_.

“LaRusso...are you saying you had a _crush_ on me?”

The relief is almost as intense as the adrenaline from the fight. She laughs, reaching over to shove Tory’s shoulder. “You’re _such_ an asshole.”

“An asshole with nice arms, apparently. You liked that top?”

“I fucking hate you.”

“No, you don’t. You looove me.”

Sam groans. “See if I tell you anything again.”

Tory blows her a kiss. Unfortunately, Sam’s mind is now on the fishnets, which leads to thinking about dresses, which makes her think about her conversation with Moon. 

“Do you ever want to go back to school?” 

Tory looks up from her slurpee. “I’m sorry?”

“I just--I know you got, like, expelled but I was thinking, like, I could talk to the school board. I was the one you attacked so like, if I’m okay with it they should be, right?”

“You said ‘like’ three times there, princess. Finally evolving into your valley-girl final form?”

“Shut up and answer the question.”

“I don’t want your help.”

“It wouldn’t be charity, I just--look, Hawk gets to be there even though he literally broke Demetri’s arm, Robby gets to go back even though he was the one who _pushed_ Miguel, why are you the only one who gets punished for what happened?”

“Yeah, it sucks. But life’s unfair. Do you really think daddy and mommy would let you stand up for me?”

“I don’t care what they think.” Tory looks over at her in surprise. “I don’t like it when things are unfair. And if my parents weren’t biased they would think it was unfair too.”

“Why are you suddenly so hung up on this?”

“I just--” She’s not sure how to say _I want to ask you to prom_ without sounding batshit insane. “No reason.”

Tory gives her a skeptical look but says nothing. 

* * *

Demetri tips over like a Jenga tower and Sam springs to her feet, her hands up. 

“That’s a new move.” Her dad gives her an odd look. “Where did you learn it?”

Sam thinks back to the parking lot. “I worked it out myself.”

“It’s not your usual style.” 

“It’s badass.” Sensei Lawrence is also giving her a strange look as he says it. “Well done, Miss LaRusso.”

She helps Demetri to his feet while her dad argues with Sensei Lawrence and tries to stop thinking about how many hours she has to go before she can slip away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If the Cobra Kai writers actually have Sam and Tory fight side by side in the next season I will learn how to gif specifically so I can make a set of the scene captioned "gaslight gatekeep girlboss"


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tournament is getting closer. Sam's not okay with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blanket content warning from here on in for canon-typical abuse/creepiness from Kreese and Terry Silver and some violent imagery.

“You got this, okay?” Her dad squeezes her shoulder. “Remember what we taught you.”

It’s the last round of the tournament, and it’s down to her and Tory. Like she always knew it would be. Kreese is whispering in Tory’s ear on the other side of the blue mat, wiping a streak of blood off her face. She won’t look at Sam. They face each other on the mat. Tory still won’t meet her eyes. The referee blows his whistle. 

“Face me, bow.” 

Sam opens her mouth to speak, but she can’t--it’s like she’s in a play and she’s forgotten her lines. 

“Face each other, and bow.” 

Such a stupid idea, bowing to your opponent. Like a gesture of respect could change the fact that this person is your enemy, that if you don’t fight back, they’ll kill you. 

“Fight!”

Tory lunges at her and Sam dodges. The scars on her arm are burning under her uniform, and when she looks down she can see the cuts have opened back up, and red is slowly staining the white fabric. Everything feels slowed down, like she’s underwater, but it doesn’t help her predict Tory’s moves. Tory still won’t meet her eyes, even though they’re so close that Sam could touch her, but her face is determined, and Sam is afraid. She looks back over her shoulder to try and catch a glimpse of her dad, just for a second, but he’s not there. No one from Miyagi-do is, she’s alone. Tory knocks her off her feet and she falls onto the red mat-- _why is it red, it shouldn’t be red_. The crowd roars. They sound distant, tinny, like an old recording. She hears someone yell _put her in a body bag_ as she struggles to her feet. Tory sneers at her. 

“You’re weak, LaRusso.”

She forces the words out. “I don’t want to fight you.”

“Then this’ll be easy.” Tory catches her as she goes for a kick, drives her elbow into her leg, and Sam crumples to the ground, and she knows it’s useless, she’s lost. This is how it happened, this is how it’s going to happen. A voice behind Tory says _finish her_ , and Tory grabs her by the lapel and yanks her back to her feet, pulling her so close enough to kiss. Their eyes meet as she sinks the knife into her heart, and Sam wakes up before she hits the mat for the final time, gripping her arm. The scars haven’t opened up, she’s not at the tournament, she’s in bed. It’s five-thirty and she’d only managed to fall asleep an hour ago, but she wasn’t about to try again and risk having another dream. 

“Fuck.”

She drags herself out of bed and puts on her workout clothes--now that she’s awake she might as well go for a run.

It’s not the fight that sticks with her--she’s had plenty of dreams where Tory tries to kill her (and _other_ dreams about Tory, and sometimes they’re the same thing.) It’s the look in Tory’s eyes. When Tory fought her before they were...whatever they are now, her eyes were always narrowed with fury, like Sam was a gazelle and Tory was a lioness who was going to rip her apart with her claws and teeth or die trying. When they’re sparring on the beach now, Tory looks less angry and more focused, watching Sam move and trying to pinpoint the best way to respond. (She enjoys watching Tory fight more than she likes to admit.)

Dream-Tory, however, looked terrified. Even when she was winning, even when she stabbed Sam in the heart, she looked terrified. 

* * *

Her dad is mixing pancake batter when she gets back. “Hey, kiddo. Were you out for a run?” 

“Yeah,” she pants, unhooking her headphones. “Couldn’t sleep.” 

“Are you doing okay?” He gestures with the whisk. “With, you know, the tournament coming up and everything.” 

“Yeah.” She tries not to think about the dream. “Just gotta stay in shape.”

“You know you could tell me if something was going on with you, right?” He’s giving her the same searching look he did when they were both sneaking into the house almost a month ago. 

“Yeah, absolutely.” 

“I know when I was younger there was a lot of stuff I felt like I couldn’t talk about, like about dating--” The teakettle whistles and he rushes to move it off the stove while Sam internally scrambles to find a way to throw him off her trail.

“Um, yeah, speaking of dating--Mom was telling me about this dating app she’s been using? If you want to get back into the game.”

 _Nailed it_. He colors, looking down at the pancake batter. “Oh, I’m not really interested in using a dating app at the moment. You know, there’s so much going on--”

“Of course.” 

He opens his mouth like he’s going to say something else, but then Anthony wanders into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes. “Why are you both awake so early? And are those pancakes?” 

* * *

There are videos on Youtube of all the old All-Valley tournaments, dating back to the seventies. Sam knows this because she’s watched her dad’s fights more times than she can count, usually at night on incognito mode after she decides she’s not going to get any more sleep and it’s okay to give in to her worst impulses. 

This habit is something she hasn’t told anyone about--not Miguel, not her parents, not even Tory. It feels like a betrayal of her father, almost, because she senses he wouldn’t want her to see anything but the breathless moment of triumph after he landed the crane kick in ‘84. But then December happened and she had to fight for her life in her own house and then saw her father about to kill a man in a parking lot. After that, she felt like she’d earned a key to the old shed out back where her dad kept the scary family secrets. 

She’s watched the videos so many times she practically has them memorized. They’re not very good quality, but they’re better than what she had before, which was her dad’s story of gold-plated triumph one year and two throwaway lines about how he made a terrible decision in the other. 

He and Sensei Lawrence joke about ‘84 sometimes, but it’s a kind of gallows humor. She likes Sensei Lawrence--at first because she had to, because Miguel does and he’s her best friend, but that grew into actually liking him. But she also knows her father has to ice his knee after long days of standing at the car dealership or teaching classes because of what Sensei Lawrence did. She’s watched the moments before the fight hundreds of times, watching both her dad and Mr. Miyagi on one side of the mat and Kreese and Sensei Lawrence on the other. She thinks that Sensei Lawrence hesitates. But she’s not sure how much of that is her revisionist projection. How much of it is her wanting him to have hesitated. How much of it is her hoping Tory will do the same when it comes down to the two of them facing each other on the mat. 

* * *

Tory looks exhausted when Sam picks her up. “If I see another pair of roller skates I’m going to throw up, I swear to god.” Sam wordlessly hands her the nitro cold brew she’d picked up and Tory stares at it like it’s the elixir of life. “Thanks for reminding me why I keep you around, LaRusso.” 

Sam looks over at her hands and does a double-take, actually leaning over to take Tory’s wrist in her hand so she can look closer. Her knuckles look like she’s hit something hard, over and over again. Some of the cuts are healed, leaving behind thin white scars that look like shattered glass, but some are clearly more recent. 

“Tory, are those from practice?”

“Yeah.” She rolls her eyes at Sam. “You seriously can’t tell me you guys haven’t done this.”

“You’re not--exercises aren’t supposed to do this.”

“They are if you’re not a pussy. Jesus, you’re really worried about a few cuts, LaRusso?” Tory’s voice is dismissive but she won’t meet Sam’s eyes. Sam suddenly remembers a few days earlier. Sensei Lawrence had reached out to correct her form and she’d seen white broken-glass lines on his knuckles. It had stood out to her because her dad had those same scars. 

“Tory, I--”

“I’m not gonna talk about Cobra Kai with you, princess. If that’s where you’re going with this.”

“No, I just--”

“Seriously, that’s a hard limit. I’m using my safeword.”

“Fine.” They sit in uncomfortable silence for a long moment, and then an idea pops into Sam’s head. “Hey, do you want to learn more about how we do things at Miyagi-do?”

“Not particularly.”

“Seriously--” She shifts her car into drive. “I know the dojo is empty right now. And it’s too early to spar on the beach, it’s probably still crowded.”

“You’re not gonna make me meditate, right?”

“Nope. I’ve got something even cooler planned.”

* * *

“This is the opposite of cool.” Tory stares at the raised platform in the middle of the pond. “What’s the point of this?” 

“The point is balance--you need to move in perfect synchronization for it to work.” 

“Why would we need to be in sync if we’re fighting each other?”

“It might be useful if we have to stop another bunch of date-rapists.” Tory shrugs but doesn’t say anything, which usually means she thinks Sam’s made a good point but doesn’t want to admit it. “It’s not just about fighting, it’s about understanding the other person, you know? Like, sensing them? I don’t really know how to describe it.”

“That’s your argument for why we should splash around in this pond in the middle of the night when we could be at In’N’Out?”

“Come on. It’s not _that_ cold. What, are you chicken?”

“Oh, please. You’re going to have to be more creative than that to convince me, LaRusso.” 

Sam flaps her arms like a bird and clucks. 

“This is ridiculous!” Tory pinwheels her arms as the two of them try to stay upright on the wheel. 

“Come on, get into it!” Tory shoves her and they both fall into the pond. 

The first few times it’s mostly them shoving each other off the platform as soon as they’re both standing, but slowly the atmosphere shifts into something more serious. 

“Stay where you are.” Tory moves slowly, and Sam holds still, not even breathing. “Okay, go.” They manage to stay upright for almost an entire minute before Sam sneezes and they both tumble into the pond. Tory splashes her when they both surface. 

“You ruined my concentration!”

“That sounds like you were getting into it.” Tory lunges at her and they engage in an extremely petty water fight before climbing back onto the platform. She holds out her hand to help Tory up and Tory takes it, and they both manage to stand without immediately having to duck back down for the first time. “Okay, turn around.” 

For the next hour the only things they say to each other are instructions-- _go left, hold still, careful_ \--and slowly they’re doing it. It’s easier than it was with Robby, maybe because she’s had so many nights of watching Tory’s style and Tory’s clearly been watching hers. The crescent moon is high in the sky when Sam’s phone chimes, informing them they’ve managed to stay up for five minutes. Their eyes meet in triumph, and Tory pumps her fist at the news, which, somewhat predictably, sends them both tumbling into the water.

It’s chilly, but the air smells like spring. They climb out of the pond together, and lie side by side on the grass, out of breath. 

“You can actually see like, multiple stars here.”

“Yeah, the light pollution isn’t terrible.” Sam rolls over on her elbow and stares at Tory. Her hair is fanned out under her head like she’s in a classical painting. A strand sticks to her forehead, and Sam leans over to brush it out of her face.

“Ugh, you’re giving me the face.”

“What face?”

“The Disney-princess face? Like you’re about to burst into song about the healing power of love.”

“I don’t make that face!”

“You make _exactly_ that face. I hope you know if you do start singing about the healing power of love, I will walk out of here and I won’t ever come back.”

“Shut up.” Sam kisses her. 

They lie next to each other on the grass for a little while longer--it’s too cold for this, really, but neither of them wants the moment to be over. 

* * *

She’s got a suitcase in the back of her car with her clothes for the weekend--divorced kid practicality--and she and Tory are roughly the same size. They get changed out of their wet clothes in the room that her dad and Sensei Lawrence use as an office because it’s the warmest part of the dojo. 

They keep their backs turned to each other as they change--even though they’ve touched each other so many times, it’s always been in the dark, and there’s an intimacy to changing in this warmly lit tiny room that neither of them wants to acknowledge. Tory fishes around in the minifridge while Sam tries to dry off her hair. 

“There’s only green juice and Coors Lite in here.” 

“I think my dad has stuff for tea around here somewhere.” 

“Ugh, that’s even worse.” There’s a stack of cushions in the corner that her dad has them sit on for mindfulness training, and they flop down on them. 

“Next time you need to steal some wine from your parent’s cellar, LaRusso.”

“Oh, there’s gonna be a next time?” 

“Sure, why not? Let’s make that wheel our bitch.”

Sam laughed. “I think we can get it quicker next time. You just need to stop going left.” 

“Oh, _I_ need to stop going left?” 

“Yes. And then when it tips you overcorrect.” 

“I wasn’t the one who panicked and jumped off because it was shaking.”

“I did not _jump off!_ ”

“You bailed and almost gave me a concussion.” Tory takes a sip of the Coors she’d grabbed out of the fridge and makes a face. “God, this is awful.”

“Let me taste.” Sam shudders. “Yeah, wow. Is the green juice any better?”

“No.” 

“God.”

“I thought rich people were supposed to have taste.”

“Sensei Lawrence isn’t rich.” 

“That doesn’t give your dad an excuse.”

“No. He does make really good smoothies, though. Have you ever had acai berries? They’re really good with--”

“You need to shut up right now before I kill you.”

“Gotcha.”

Tory took another sip of the green juice and shuddered. “Ugh.” She hesitates for a moment. “The tournament is soon.”

Hearing Tory bring up the tournament makes Sam feel cold, even though the room is warm. They haven’t talked about the tournament, past that one discussion on the beach the first time they sparred, a hundred years ago. But now it’s here in the room, an ugly thing looming between them. “I know.” She rubs her arm and tries not to think about her dream. “Are you looking forward to me kicking your ass?” She’s trying to joke around, to lighten the mood, but Tory shudders. 

“No.” Sam looks over at her in surprise. The look on her face was like nothing Sam had seen before, she would have said that Tory _was_ afraid, which was something she didn’t think was possible (except in dreams.) “Look, LaRusso. There’s...some stuff you should know.” Dread rises up in the back of Sam’s throat. She nods, sensing she shouldn’t joke about hard limits right now. “Kreese and his war buddy, they’re...the stuff they’ve been teaching us isn’t like--god, I don’t even know how to describe it. It’s fucking _violent_ and dirty and I just--” She takes another gulp of green juice and shudders. “ _God,_ this is revolting. I just--I’m in so deep I can’t get out but I don’t want to be this fucking person anymore. I _can’t_ be this fucking person. Jesus.” She presses her face into her hands.

“Tory--” Sam puts her hand on her back, and she can _feel_ how tense the other girl is. She rubs a slow circle between her shoulder blades, and Tory leans into the touch. Tory’s afraid, she realizes, and so is she. This tournament isn’t really about them, or her dad and Sensei Lawrence, it’s about Kreese and Terry Silver, the smirking monsters on the other side of the mat, the hunters stalking the foxes through the underbrush, the snakes spreading poison into Tory and Robby and every other lonely kid they can get close to. She knows Kreese told the Cobras to attack their house, knows that he tried to kill her father and Sensei Lawrence, that her father--her father who abhors violence, who has struggled his whole life to be the better person--would have killed _him_. (She doesn’t know Terry Silver, but she knows her father has never looked more terrified than he did in the video of the ‘85 match.) “I don’t want to do the tournament either.”

“You better not be saying that just to make me feel better.”

“I’m serious.” She thinks about the dream, how it came down to the two of them, and how sure that would be how it would end up like that when the tournament happened. “Look, do you just want to get out of town?” Tory looks at her like she’s just suggested they take a rocket to the moon. 

“LaRusso. We are not Thelma and fucking Louise.”

“I don’t mean forever! I just mean, like, for that weekend. I know you don’t have shifts then because they think you’re going to be at the tournament, and I have some savings. We can just like, find a motel on the beach and hunker down for 24 hours, and then it’ll be over.”

“Are you crazy? Did you hit your head on that stupid wheel?”

“Look, what can they do to us if we’re just gone?”

“I think daddy dearest will have something to say about his star student who’s also his fucking daughter going missing.”

“I won’t ‘go missing.’ I’ll say I’m sick and went to stay with my mom. And he’ll be distracted, he’s always a wreck on tournament day.” She grabs Tory’s hand in hers. “I just...I’m tired of the fucking battle for the soul of the valley. Let’s just go, okay? Let’s put it in the rearview mirror and let it work itself out while we’re eating In-N-Out and watching crappy TV miles away from it.”

“And you want to do this with _me_?”

“What can I say?” Sam shrugs. “I have horrible taste.” 

Tory stares at her face for a long moment, and then leans in and kisses her softly on the lips. “Let me try something. Okay?”

“Okay.” Tory reached for the zipper on her hoodie and gently tugged it down, pushing the sweater over Sam’s shoulders and leaving her in the tank top she’d fished out of her suitcase. Sam feels oddly exposed, even though this was far from the first time they’d touched each other. Maybe it’s the fact that they’re somewhere warm and lit and uncluttered for the first time, not the beach or inside her car or in a parking lot. Or maybe it’s the way Tory is looking at her. It’s not predatory but equally intense in a different kind of way. Tory pushes her onto her back and Sam lets her, even though she tenses instinctively when she sees where Tory is looking.

“Do they hurt?” Tory gently brushes her finger over one of the scars. Her touch is so light that Sam almost can’t believe the scars came from the same hand. 

“No. They healed well. The doctor said they’d fade.” 

Tory traces them, looking mesmerized. Sam clenches her fists, hoping Tory won’t see the way her hands are shaking. But she can tell Tory sees. “Are you scared of me, LaRusso?” 

Sam meets the other girl’s eyes. “I’m pretty sure I already gave you an answer to that.”

“You’re shaking.”

“So are you.” And she is, Sam can feel her fingers trembling against her skin. “Are you the one who’s scared of me?”

Instead of answering, Tory leans down and presses her lips to the place where she’d tried to rip her open. Sam feels the kiss travel through her like something electric, almost painful. She can barely breathe. “Tory--”

“You know I won’t do it again, right?” Tory meets her eyes, and she looks almost desperate. “I won’t.”

“I believe you.” She squeezes one of her hands out from where Tory has them pinned and reaches up, brushing Tory’s hair out of her face. “I believe you, Tory.”

“Sam--” And then Tory is kissing her and Sam pulls her closer, savoring the taste of her name on Tory’s lips, wanting to dissolve the negative space between them into nothing. They’re holding onto each other and Sam thinks the words _I love you_.

* * *

And then Tory stops texting her. Not gradually, but all at once. At first, Sam doesn’t worry about it--she knows the other girl has a busy schedule, but after twenty-four hours the silence seems almost overpowering. After forty-eight hours, Sam feels like she’s earned the right to be worried. 

She knows Tory has a Thursday shift at the Golf’N’Stuff that ends at four, and she waits in the parking lot in her car. _This is what a crazy person does_ , the logical voice in her head says. She tells it to shut up. 

Tory comes out of the building at four-thirty, her head down. Sam runs over to intercept her.

“Tory--I--”

Tory sneers. “Jesus, LaRusso. You can’t take a hint?” 

“I texted you. I called you, I--are you okay? What’s happened?” 

“I don’t want to see you anymore, okay? Go find some other girl to blow off steam with.”

The words don’t really sink in. “I don’t understand.”

“What part of this do you not understand, LaRusso? How much clearer can I be?” Tory turns to face her and she sees the finger-shaped bruises on her forearm. She feels sick to her stomach. 

“What did Kreese do to you?”

Tory blanches. “This isn’t about him.”

“Tory if he’s hurting you--” Tory pushes her, hard, and she barely manages to catch herself.

“Do you not want to wait until the tournament? Because if you want me to beat your ass now, that can be arranged.”

“I’m not going to fight you!”

“Then this’ll be easy.” Tory punches her in the face, which she genuinely wasn't expecting, and she barely manages to block the next blow. Tory lunges towards her, and they’re fighting like they did back in December, back when Tory was just the predator stalking her nightmares but it’s worse now, it’s so much worse because she’s felt Tory trace the scars on her arm and heard Tory say _I won’t do it again_ and she’s scared and angry but more than anything she’s _hurt_ , because she’s given Tory the worst possible weapon, the worst way to injure her, and now Tory is twisting the blade, making sure it hurts. 

“Tory, please--” 

“Just shut the hell up and _go_ , LaRusso!”

“No. I’m not leaving.”

“Then I’ll fucking make you.”  
There’s a flash of white-hot pain against Sam’s palm and she staggers backward, looking down at the gash on her hand. The pieces only click into place when she sees the spikes on Tory’s knuckles. 

“You said you’d get rid of it.”

“Guess I lied.” Tory has the same look on her face she had on that day, the day she attacked Sam, the day Miguel fell, the day everything fell apart. “You want to know what they feel like again, LaRusso? Or do you want to be a smart little girl and get lost?”

Sam runs, fumbling for the car keys as she goes. She doesn’t remember driving, only that she ends up at the dojo, sitting by the pond. It’s dark out, she knows, even though it wasn’t when she drove there. She’s cold. Her palm throbs.

“Sam!” Her dad’s voice sounds louder than a gunshot because she hasn’t heard anything but the windchimes for ages, and she flinches, glancing up at him. She must look like hell because he doesn’t even yell at her for not answering her phone. “How long have you been here?”

“I don’t know.” 

“Are you all right?”

“I--” She’s not sure what to say. He sees her hand--she’d wrapped it up in her sweater. 

“Oh my god. Sam, did someone from Cobra Kai go after you? Was it Tory?”

The sound of Tory’s name cracks her open and she makes a noise she didn’t know she was capable of making--some kind of jagged wail that hurts her chest. “Oh, honey.” Her dad crouches next to her and pulls her into his arms. Now that she’s started crying she can’t seem to stop and it _hurts_ , not her hand but her whole body, like something deep inside of her has been twisted until it snapped, like her lungs are full of broken glass. She clutches on to her father and sobs. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. It’s okay. Breathe, Sam. It’s all right. Just breathe.” His voice reminds her of the two of them in the fishing boat, of him coaching her through an anxiety attack in the car before the PSAT, his arms around her after the brawl at their house. “I’m here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay please look at the "angst with a happy ending" tag I added before you get mad at me


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tournament gets closer, and Sam has several realizations

Sam doesn’t think about Tory. She also can’t think of anything else. It’s complicated.

Her dad, thankfully, doesn’t ask for details about how she ended up bleeding by the pond, and neither does her mom. She knows they’re assuming that Tory attacked her, and it’s an easier explanation than what actually happened. _  
_

It would be easier if she could hate her. She _does_ hate her, but she also can’t stop thinking about the finger shaped bruises on her arm, the cuts on her knuckles. 

_“I’m in so deep I can’t get out, but I don’t want to be this fucking person anymore. I can’t be this fucking person.”_

_But she is that person_ , Sam tells herself. _So she has a sob story, that doesn’t excuse what she did to you_.

The tournament keeps edging closer. She can barely sleep--her schedule was already shot to hell because of her late night meetings with Tory, but now she can’t sleep even when she’s lying in bed sore from a good workout with twice the recommended amount of melatonin in her system. She buys heavy-duty cough medicine, desperate for just a few hours of sleep, and dreams about Tory drowning her in the balance pond, Tory stabbing her on the mat at the tournament, Kreese’s hand on Tory’s shoulder, around her throat. Her mom gives her a worried look over breakfast. 

“Are you having nightmares again?”

“Why do you ask?”

“I heard you last night.”

“Oh.” She half-laughs. “I don’t really remember. Maybe?”

“Are you sure the tournament is a good idea? I don’t like the idea of you seeing that girl again.”

“I’m late.” Sam grabs her backpack. 

“Sam, we’re not finished.”

“Sorry, can we talk later?” She runs. _Like you always do_ , Tory’s voice says in her head

* * *

She’s off her game at practice. Her dad and Sensei Lawrence both go easy on her, which she hates, but shouting at them to stop treating her like she’s made of glass would probably prove that she’s, to quote what she overheard her mother say on the phone, “not in a good place.” 

As usual, she and Miguel stay back to tidy up the yard. He grins at her. “After-practice In-N-Out?”

“Sure.”

Miguel looks anxious as they slide into their booth.

“Are you nervous about the conference?” In a few hours he was leaving for a special conference for young people interested in getting into the medical field. Her dad and Sensei Lawrence had a friend from high school who he had been messaging about it. 

“No. Well, yes, but like, I’m also excited?”

“Hey, you know you’re still gonna kill it at the tournament, right? It’s good to take a break right before the big event, and this conference you’re going to is a huge deal.”

He grins at her. “Yeah--I know it’s silly but you know, I’d love to be able to do what the doctor did for me in September, you know?” He smiles. 

“You know that a doctor who can also do karate is the ideal protagonist of an action movie, right?”

“And you haven’t even heard about how I plan to dress up and fight crime.”

She laughs. “I’m so excited for you--you’re gonna send me pictures, right?”

“Yeah, obviously.” He grins and swipes one of her fries. She is suddenly, painfully reminded of Tory doing the same, and for a moment, it’s like she can’t breathe. 

“Sam, you okay?”

She bites down on the inside of her cheek. “Fine.”

“Look, I wanted to talk to you about Tory.”

For a moment, Sam thinks she’s hallucinating. “What?”

Miguel shifts in his chair. “I didn’t want to say anything, but then last week--I know something happened between you guys.”

She feels like her chest is getting tight. “Miguel, I don’t want to talk about her.”

“I’m worried about her, Sam.”

“I don’t give a shit.”

“I think you do. You guys have been seeing each other, right?”

“Excuse me?”

“I used to date her too, you know. I recognize her style and I’ve seen you using some of her moves when we spar. Also, I found this in the pond.” He places a tacky-looking hoop earring on the table. She remembers Tory complaining about missing an earring that night. 

“Why are you looking to be a doctor? You should be a detective.” Her voice sounds brittle.

“Sam--”

“She attacked me last week.” She can’t meet his eyes. Her face feels hot and she realizes she’s about to start crying, which she fucking _hates_ doing in public. “With the fucking spike bracelet. And I--I _trusted_ her, Miguel. After everything, I thought she’d be different.”  
Miguel hands her a wad of paper napkins and she presses hard on her eyes, trying to force the tears back in. 

“I’m not saying what she did wasn’t fucked up--I’m just worried you might not have the full story.”

“What do you mean?” 

“Listen, you’ve never been in Cobra Kai, so you don’t totally get it but like...Kreese is fucking _vicious_. He gets his claws into you and before you know it you’re a completely different person.”

She sniffs sarcastically. “Are you saying he brainwashed Tory into attacking me?”

He rolls his eyes. “No. You know that’s not what I mean. Look--” He shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “Remember the last tournament?”

Sam thinks back to Miguel’s usually kind face twisted in rage as he faced Robby, the way he focused on his injured shoulder. “Yeah.”

“I talked to Sensei Lawrence about that, later on. He was--” Miguel shrugs. “I think what happened fucked him up. Maybe it was because Robby’s his son, maybe it’s because of him and your dad.” He looks at her like she knows what he’s talking about, and she nods, even though she doesn’t. “Anyway he was changing the way he taught but then Kreese showed up.” He shudders and Sam reaches across the table, taking his hand. “I stayed away from him for the most part--Sensei Lawrence looked out for me. But there were other kids I think he kind of sensed were more open to buying what he was selling. Like Hawk.”

“And Tory.” She can feel dread starting to creep in. 

“He really liked Tory.” Miguel looks down at his burger. “I remember he always went out of the way to talk to her after practice. He’s--I know you probably won’t get this but when he’s proud of you he can say exactly what you want to hear. Like, he just _knows_ how to get you on his side.”

“God.” When Sam thinks of Kreese she thinks of broken glass--the broken glass in their kitchen, and the broken glass outside the strip mall. That was the first time she’d ever seen him in person, not as the monster who lurked in the corners of family stories and grainy YouTube footage. She pictures him bending down to whisper in Tory’s ear the same way he did in that one video of Sensei Lawrence and her father from decades ago, the bandages on Tory’s knuckles, the look of hunted-prey fear on Tory’s face that night before everything went to hell.

“Sam?”

“She didn’t want to do the tournament,” she finally says. “We had a whole plan to skip it, and then she just changed her mind.” She meets Miguel’s eyes. “Do you think he’s hurting her?”

“I think he’s hurting everyone in that dojo. He’s a monster, Sam. I just--” He runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t know about this tournament. I know he’s planning something, and I’m worried.” 

“That’s what Tory said too.”

“We have to find a way to stop it. I just--I can’t stand the idea of our people getting hurt but I’m worried about the Cobras too. No one deserves this.”

Sam nods. “Okay. But why do _I_ have to be the one to talk to her?” She cringes at how whiny she sounds. 

“Because you’re the one she needs to hear from right now. Look, I was there at the party watching you two goad each other into getting drunk--you know how to push each other’s buttons because you have more in common than you think.” Sam thinks back to that first night, to Tory smirking at her and how easily the rest of the room fell away, just leaving the two of them. She had hated Tory, but even then, it was like they knew each other. 

“Fine. I’ll talk to her. You get home the day before the tournament, right?”

“Yeah. I feel bad about leaving right before--”

“--Hey.” Sam cuts him off. “You’re gonna have a great time, and you’re not going to feel guilty. I promise nothing horrible is going to happen if you’re out of town for twenty-four hours.”

He smiles at her. “Thanks.”

“You should feel guilty if you forget to send me pictures, though. I want to see the room service options at the hotel.”

They grin at each other, and everything feels almost normal. 

* * *

She sends Tory a text after dropping off Miguel. 

[Hey. Can we talk?] 

She doesn’t respond. Sam doesn’t really expect her to, but that doesn’t stop her from checking her phone every few minutes just in case. Three hours into her AP Calculus homework, she sends out another one. 

[What you did wasn’t okay but I’m worried about you.]

Nothing. She finishes her homework and goes for a run, trying to lose herself in the gory details of the true-crime podcast she’s been working through, but it just sounds like static no matter how high she cranks up the volume.

_He gets his claws into you and before you know it you’re a completely different person._

_I was weak and he took advantage of that._

_I’m in so deep I can’t get out._

She trips over a crack in the sidewalk and nearly wipes out, but catches herself on a tree and stands with her hands on her knees, gasping for air. The cut on her palm has started bleeding again, and she can’t tell if the salt on her face is tears or sweat. 

[Call me.]

* * *

“Uh-uh. Nope” The 7/11 clerk shakes his head as soon as she comes in. 

“I just need a second.”

“Look, if my manager sees you he will fire me.”

“I’m not going to do anything.”

“Well, don’t do it outside.” He crosses his arms and fails to look intimidating.

“What if I want to buy something?” 

“There’s a CVS two blocks away.” 

“You’re serious. You’re turning away good business because I knocked over an Oreo display?”

“You started a fight. We have a reputation to uphold.”

“You run a chain convenience store!”

“We still don’t want people brawling in our parking lot. If you don’t leave I’m calling the police.”

Sam leaves, but not before kicking the top box off a waist-high pyramid of creamsicle flavored Oreos. It flies into the clerk’s face and he ducks, and she feels somewhat better as she walks out of the store. The clerk yells _crazy bitch_ after her, but she doesn’t care. 

She buys a box of energy bars and two cherry cokes at the gas station next to the 7/11 and parks in the Golf N Stuff parking lot. 

[Hey, I’m outside in the parking lot. I have food. Can we talk?]

Tory doesn’t respond.

[Look, you owe me that much. After everything we’ve been through.]

She puts her seat back and stares up through the sunroof at the flat dark sky and tries to think about what to say to Tory. _I’m furious with you and you hurt me but also I’m worried you’re in danger? I hate the idea of something bad happening to you? I know you take stupid risks and I’m worried you’re taking one now?_

Tory doesn’t text her back. She waits for an hour, until she’s sure that the other girl’s shift is over, but she never sees her. 

Eventually she goes home and tries to sleep.

[Just let me know if you’re okay.]

* * *

Friday passes in a long, extremely boring blur. She turns in an essay, takes a quiz, eats the sandwich Moon puts in front of her, and drives to practice. 

[I’m not going to fight you at the tournament. I don’t care if it comes down to us two. If you hate me, that’s fine. But get out of there, okay? For your own sake.] 

She feels lighter at practice after sending the text. 

Everyone mills around chatting and eating the homemade granola bars Demetri’s mom made. Sam checks her phone. There’s nothing. 

“Miss LaRusso.” Sensei Lawrence is watching her. “You all right?”

“Yeah. Just thinking about the tournament.”

He gives her a look that suggests he knows she’s lying, but doesn’t say anything.

* * *

She’s in her car after dropping Demetri off when her phone vibrates. She scrambles for it, even though she knows it’s probably not Tory, it’s probably Miguel or her dad or Moon or--

It’s Tory.

[i’ll be fine, okay? just stay away from cobra kai.]

Sam almost drops her phone in surprise. 

[What does this mean?]

She waits a few agonizing minutes. [Seriously, fucking respond to this, I’m worried.]

Nothing. 

“Fuck!” She punches her dashboard, and then curses again because she’d jolted her hand and now it was fucking bleeding again. 

There was no way Tory would have sent the text unless she was in trouble. Sam wasn’t sure _how_ she was in trouble, but she knew that she was. And, thanks to the fact that she’d spent a good part of the past month picking Tory up at various places, she knew _where_ she was. She’d never actually picked Tory up from there--Tory would meet her at the coffee shop two blocks down the street, but they both knew where Tory had actually been. 

Her heart is racing as she drives to the tiny strip mall. _Breathe_ , she tells herself, clutching the steering wheel. _She’s okay. It’s probably nothing, you’re probably overreacting._

The thing is, she knows she’s not. 

Cobra Kai’s restored glass window with the snake decal is lit up when Sam pulls into the parking lot and she parks close to the back, behind at least two rows of cars. She closes the door quietly, and walks towards the dojo, keeping her head down. This is ridiculous, she knows that no one is watching, but it _feels_ like she’s being watched. Like she’s in enemy territory. _Daddy’s little princess in the snake pit,_ she remembers Tory saying what feels like a hundred years ago, and she bites the inside of her cheek to hold back a hysterical giggle.

The door to the dojo bangs open and her heart leaps into her chest.

“You know what?” She recognizes Tory’s voice. “We’re through. I’m not doing this anymore.”

A man’s voice responds, low and edged with fury “I didn’t say you could leave.”

“Let go--” Tory’s voice cuts off with a pained gasp, and Sam’s careful plans about staying out of the way and waiting for the opportune moment to try and talk to her immediately get wiped out of her brain by a tidal wave of pure rage. There’s a broom handle lying on the ground next to the recycling bins and she grabs it and sprints towards the entrance to Cobra Kai. 

Kreese’s arm is around Tory’s throat. Tory looks small, almost fragile, words Sam would never have thought to apply to her before. She’s never been so angry in her fucking life. 

“Hey, dickhead!” 

The broomstick makes a satisfying noise as it cracks across the back of Kreese’s head. Her dad would tut-tut at her form but he’s not here and it gets the job done. He lets go of Tory’s throat and she slides to the ground, rubbing at her throat and gasping for air. Sam grabs her arm and pulls her behind her, away from Kreese. She wants to get them for the car but Tory can barely stand, and so she just stays between her and Kreese and grips the broom handle, glaring at him. Kreese rubs his jaw and smirks. 

“You really are your father’s daughter, you know that?”

“You have ten seconds to fuck off before I call the police.”

“And what will you say? You attacked _me_ in the parking lot.”

“You literally tried to strangle a teenage girl, I think the cops will have a thing or two to say about that.”

He holds up his hands, smiling confidently. “Well, she’s a delinquent. I’m a veteran and a pillar of the community. I think they’ll take my word over hers.” 

Sam scrambles to think of what to do next, brandishing the broom handle, wishing she had someone there who would know what to do. Mr. Miyagi. Her dad. Even Sensei Lawrence Or just a gun. _How’d that be for ‘no mercy’ you fucking piece of shit?_

“You’re in over your head, little girl.”

“Yeah, you’re hardly the first person to tell me that.”

“You might have trained with your daddy, but that doesn’t mean you know how to fight. You don’t know what it means to get your knuckles bloody, to drag yourself out of the pit with just your fingernails and teeth.”

“Shut the fuck up! You think you can scare me? You're a B-movie villain.” 

Kreese smirks, and she realizes he’s not looking at her, he’s looking over her shoulder. She suddenly remembers what Tory had told her about Kreese’s old war buddy. _Shit_.

Later, when she talks about this evening, Sam will remember the next few seconds with incredible clarity. _How did you know not to turn around?_ Miguel would ask her, and she would look over at Tory and say _I just knew_. Tory would roll her eyes and shove her, and tell Miguel not to listen to her. But she _did_ know, somehow that Tory would have her back. Maybe it’s the balance wheel, maybe it’s the dance club parking lot, maybe it’s an acclimation of the dozens of times they’ve watched each other’s movements, but in the moment, she _knows_ that the other girl will have her back.

In any case, she keeps her eyes on Kreese, even when she hears footsteps behind her, and waits. When an unfamiliar male voice swears behind her, she reaches back, grabbing a handful of Tory’s skeleton-patterned hoodie, and pulls, repositioning them so Tory is partially sheltered from both men behind her. Kreese tries to use the moment to get closer, but he clearly was expecting her to be distracted, so she’s able to keep him at bay with the broomstick. She can see the other attacker now--a tall man with a ponytail, his cheek bleeding from Tory’s spiked bracelet, which she has over her knuckles. Sam also recognizes him instantly--he’s older than he was in the grainy YouTube videos she’d watched of her father’s fights but still has the same smarmy expression. Kreese sighs. 

“You really can’t handle a little girl, Silver?

Terry Silver smirks. “I didn’t know the kitten had claws.” Tory spits at him. Her legs are shaky but she looks defiant.

“What is your endgame here?” Sam is grateful for the broomstick because otherwise she knows her hands would be shaking. “Are you gonna kill us both right here, right now in the parking lot? Because either you do that or you let me leave with Tory. Those are your only options.”

Tory makes an irritated noise. “You’re not helping, LaRusso.”

“Listen to your girlfriend, Samantha,” drawls Silver. He manages to make her name sound like a dirty word. _How does he know your name, what else does he know how long has he been watching, waiting?_

“Shut the fuck up, you creepy shit.” It’s hitting her like a train just how screwed they both are, how easily these men could kill them both. _Think of something, think of fucking anything._ “I took a picture. Of what you did. And all my pictures get uploaded to the cloud, so even if I disappear it stays. Do you want the local news to see it? Probably would sink the tournament.” Kreese’s face drops and she tries to look like someone who isn’t bullshitting. “If not, I’d suggest you can both get lost right the fuck now, and I’ll save beating your ass for the mat.” 

Kreese looks over at Silver, who shrugs. “All right. I suppose we’ll see you Sunday.”

Silver smirks at her. “Give your father my regards, Samantha.” She thinks about the scars on her father’s knuckles and it’s only Tory’s presence that keeps her from slamming her broomstick into his head.

“Sam.” Tory grips her shoulder. She looks like she could pass out at any moment. Sam wraps an arm around her waist. 

“I’ve got you.” 

They hurry to the car. She knows Kreese and Silver are watching them both, hunters tracking their prey, and they won’t be safe until they’re far away from them. Once they’re in the car, she locks the doors, relishing the sound, and drives not stopping until she’s got a good few miles away. She parks in some nondescript office parking lot, unbuckling her seatbelt so she can examine the bruises on Tory’s neck. “We should go to the hospital.”

“No. No hospital.”

“You’re hurt, he might have damaged your windpipe or your lungs or--”

“LaRusso. I’m not paying a couple of thousand dollars for a nurse to tell me I’ll be fine.” She coughs dryly and Sam holds out her water bottle. Tory slaps it out of her hand. She winces, looking down at the bandage on her palm, and sure enough, it had started to bleed again. 

“Great.”

Tory coughs again and then glares at her. “Why did you have to fucking show up?”

“He was literally trying to strangle you!”

“He wouldn’t have actually done it. I had it under control.”

“Okay, but it’s still bad even if he didn’t kill you. You get that, right?”

“God, you’re so fucking condescending. ”

“Are you serious right now? Kreese tries to murder you and you’re angry with _me_?”

“I don’t need you to save me. You should have just stayed away like I told you to. Don’t you know what they could have done to you?”

“You were worried about me.” The realization hits her harder than an elbow to her face. “That’s why you wanted me to stay away.”

Tory glares at her. “Shut up.”

“Look, you can lash out all you want but I fucking know you, all right? You’re not okay, and even if you hate me, you’re not going to stop me from caring about you. So stop trying to throw yourself under the bus.”

Tory laughs shakily. “You’re such an idiot.”

“Believe me, I know. And I’m really fucking pissed at you right now, but I’m not going to just leave you to deal with this on your own. We’re in this together, and you need to shut up and deal with that.”

Tory stares at her for a long moment, and then leans back in her seat, closing her eyes. “Okay.” 

“Okay.” She runs her hand through her hair, trying to think. Carmen and Miguel were both out of town, and she suspected Tory would murder her if she took her back to her house, even though she was sure her dad knew about this injury from when it had happened with Sensei Lawrence-- _Oh._

“I think I know someone close by who can help us.”

“It better not be your dad.” 

“It’s not my dad.” 

She remembers the way to Sensei Lawrence’s apartment from the various times she’d dropped Miguel off after practice. Tory shoots her a withering glare as she parks her car. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Look, Sensei Lawrence has some experience with Cobra Kai injuries, and I think I can convince him to not tell my dad or call the police. This is the best option unless you want to reconsider the hospital.”

“Fine.”

Sam has to hold her up as they stagger to the door. She realizes she’s not sure if Sensei Lawrence is even home as she rings the doorbell, but then she hears footsteps, and she’s relieved for half a second before she sees who’s opened the door. 

“Sam?”

“Dad?”

“Daniel, I was thinking we could get that Thai place from last week--” Sensei Lawrence rounds the corner wearing sweatpants and towel drying his hair. “Oh, shit.” He waves weakly. 

“Wow.” Tory looks between her and her father and laughs, sounding almost drunk. “You guys make the exact same face when you’re surprised.” And then she went limp. 

“Shit.” Sam staggered to hold her up. Sensei Lawrence moves quickly, steadying them before Tory hits the ground. He looks at the bruises on her throat and for a moment he seems decades younger.

“Kreese did this, didn’t he?”

Sam nods, and Sensei Lawrence’s face tightens. 

“John.” Her father’s voice is soft, and he touches Sensei Lawrence’s shoulder. Sensei Lawrence looks back at him, and if Sam wasn’t one hundred percent sure why her dad was here before she absolutely is now.

She clears her throat. “Come on, let’s get inside.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two generations of the Valley's karate rivalry come up with a plan. Tory gives Sam a present.

Her dad makes tea while Sensei Lawrence examines the bruises on Tory’s neck at his kitchen table. Tory is tense, but it’s not her usual coiled-snake tension, it’s more brittle. Like she could break apart at any second. Sam sits next to her, trying to be close without crowding. 

“Take a deep breath for me.” Tory does, shuddering a little. “Did that hurt?” 

“Kind of.” 

“Where? Your chest or your throat?”

“Mostly my throat.” 

“That’s good.” He pats Tory awkwardly on the shoulder. “You should take it easy the next few days but I don’t think there’s gonna be any permanent damage.”

“It didn’t last too long. Sam cracked him on the head with a broom handle.” 

Sensei Lawrence glances over at her father and raises an eyebrow. Her father gives him a patronizing look and then smiles at her. “Glad you remembered that technique, honey. Here.” He bustles over with the tea. Sam takes a mug, mostly to be polite. She doesn’t think she’ll be able to drink anything without throwing up. “I put an ice cube in yours, Tory, so it won’t be too hot and added some honey. It’ll be good for your throat. Honey has healing properties.”

“Uh, thanks.” Tory looks over at Sam, nonplussed. Sam shrugs apologetically. 

Sensei Lawrence rolls his eyes. “She doesn’t want the tea, LaRusso.” 

“No, it’s--”

“It’s what you’re supposed to do for a throat injury. Didn’t you learn _anything_ from those first-aid articles I sent you?”

Sam clears her throat loudly, knowing from experience that their arguments could last for hours. Her father has the decency to look embarrassed. “Sorry.” He sits down. “Tory, obviously we don’t have to talk about what happened right away.”

“Actually, I think we do.” Sam realizes Sensei Lawrence is looking at the bandage on her hand and she glares at him. Her father looks uncomfortable. 

“Johnny, honestly--”

“Listen, you told me what Sam looked like when you found her a week ago, I think Tory owes us an explanation.”

The same protectiveness she felt in the parking lot rises up in Sam and she glares at Sensei Lawrence. “You don’t know anything about what was going on with her.”

“I do, actually. That’s why I’m saying she needs to explain.” 

“I would think, out of _everyone_ here, you would be the _last_ person to judge her.” She thinks about Sensei Lawrence standing over her father’s crumpled body on the mat.

Sensei Lawrence opens his mouth to retort, but then glances over at her father and she’s sure that he’s thinking of the same thing that she is. Her father shifts uncomfortably in his chair, looking between the two of them like a golden retriever watching a tennis match. “Sam, listen--”  
  
“It’s all right.” Tory stares down into the mug. “I’d rather just get it out of the way. It’s not a long story.” She takes a sip and winces. “My landlord is a dick, to start off. After the whole thing at school, I got behind on my rent and he started threatening to kick us out. I needed more money, so I was either gonna have to quit Cobra Kai and get another job or fuck him.” She takes a long sip of the tea, not looking at any of them. “Anyway. Kreese didn’t like the idea of me quitting. So he showed up at my place, pieced together what was going on, and suddenly my landlord backs off. Nice of him. Or so I thought.” Her hand that isn’t holding the mug is clenched into a tight fist, and Sam reaches out and takes it, gently weaving their fingers together. Tory doesn’t look at her, but she holds on like Sam is a lifeline. She can feel her father’s eyes on their hands, but he doesn’t interrupt Tory. “Anyway, fast forward to a week ago. I tell Kreese I’m thinking of skipping the tournament--I say it’s for job-related reasons. And he tells me he’d sure hate for my rent to start being a problem again.”

“Oh my god.” Guilt and rage hit Sam in equal measure as Tory’s actions suddenly come into horrifying focus. “I’m gonna fucking kill him.”

She half expects her father to scold her, but he and Sensei Lawrence both seem stunned into silence. 

“So I kept going to practice. But he knew something was up with me. And then today, I’m responding to one of the texts I’ve gotten from Sam and he storms up to me and snatches my phone out of my hand.” She glances down at her mug and takes another gulp, wincing as she does. “He started screaming at me, saying he couldn’t handle his star pupil getting soft. He smashed my phone, which pissed me off. I can’t afford a new one. So I yelled at him to fuck off and left. I didn’t think he’d follow me. But he did.” She shudders. “He grabbed me from behind. I tried to get away but I couldn’t, he was—god, I should have seen it coming we went over this specific scenario literally a week ago—”

“Hey.” Sensei Lawrence interrupts her. He sounds almost angry. “No. None of that is your fault.”

He and Tory look at each other for a long moment, some private understanding passing between them. “Okay. Anyway, things kind of went fuzzy from there, the next thing I remember was Sam standing over me with a broom handle in her hands. His friend came out to try and help him, but I went after him with my bracelet--”

“Terry Silver?” The color rapidly drains out of her father’s face. “He was there?”

“Daniel.” Sensei Lawrence’s voice sounds different from how she’s ever heard it.

“I’m all right, Johnny.” Sam wishes she had cracked Terry Silver over the head. Anything to get the haunted look out of her father’s eyes. In the dim kitchen light, the scars on his knuckles seem almost luminescent. “Sam, did he--what did he do?”

“Made a bunch of ominous-sounding threats. I made something up about taking a video of what Kreese did and uploading it to the cloud and--”

Tory turns to her in shock. “Wait, you were _bluffing?_ ”

“I thought on my feet!”

“You could have gotten us both killed!” 

“It worked, didn’t it?”

“Jesus Christ. LaRusso, how are you still alive?”

“I’m not the one who--” Her dad clears his throat and she remembers they’re not alone. “Sorry.” She takes a sip of tea. “Anyway, I said I took a video, they bought it, and we got out of there.”

“Okay.” Her dad rubs his forehead. “We’ll talk later about why you thought it was a good idea to go to the Cobra Kai dojo in the middle of the night with no backup.” 

“She came for me.” Tory’s voice is hoarse. “She was worried about me because I told her about how Kreese and Silver were training us. But I probably don’t have to give you two a crash course in their methods, do I?”

The room is silent for a moment. “No.” Sensei Lawrence finally says. “No, you don’t.” 

“God.” Her dad is rubbing his knuckles like he’s trying to wipe the scars away. Sensei Lawrence reaches over and lightly touches his wrist, and he stops. 

“The tournament is in two days.”

Sam almost wants to laugh, thinking about the tournament. It seems almost painfully frivolous in the wake of the horrific events of the past few hours. “You can’t seriously be thinking about that.”

“We need to stop it.” It’s Sensei Lawrence who speaks, but he’s looking at her dad and she can tell they’re both thinking the same thing.

“I don’t know how--maybe we can call the city council, get the whole thing shut down.”

“Would they do that, this close to the event?”

“I don’t know, but we have to _try_.”

“Nowhere’s gonna be open this late.” Her dad’s phone rings. He looks down at it and the color rapidly drains from his face. Sensei Lawrence looks over his shoulder. “Is that--”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t answer it.”

Sam looks between them. “Who is it, Dad?” 

Her dad looks at her and Tory, and then over at Sensei Lawrence, and his face changes like he’s made a decision. He doesn’t answer her. Instead, he takes a deep breath, grabs his phone off the table, and walks towards the front door. Sensei Lawrence throws his hands up in exasperation and follows him. “Daniel! I’m telling you--goddamn it.” 

“Dad!” The front door closes. She and Tory look at each other incredulously.

“Wow.” Tory takes another sip of her tea. “That was weird.”

Sam stares between the door and Tory, trying to process everything. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“About what part?” 

“All of it! Any of it. I just--Tory, if I knew--”

“--This is why I didn’t tell you! Because I didn’t want to be your fucking charity case. I’m not some broken thing for you to fix.”

“I don’t think you’re broken.” 

Tory stares at her for a moment, and then looks away, angrily yanking her hand out of Sam’s and swiping at her eyes. “Fuck off.”

“Tory, I--I just want you to be okay.”

“You’re not that good of a person, LaRusso.”

“Fine, I’m selfish! I’m selfish because despite my best efforts I care about you and the idea of you getting blackmailed into staying in a lunatic cult makes me sick to my stomach, and I happen to have the ability to help you, and I want to. This is all actually about me.” Tory laughs at that. “Just--please, okay? Let me help you.”

“Can you just stop trying to save me?” Tory slams her palm on the table and Sam sees her bracelet glinting in the dim kitchen light. She flinches--she can’t help it--and Tory looks down at it and the anger suddenly drains out of her. “Oh god. Sam, I--”

The apartment door bursts back open. “I cannot fucking believe you did that.” Sensei Lawrence sounds angrier than he did after Miguel attempted a back handspring without someone spotting him.

“It worked, didn’t it?” Her dad is pale and seems to almost be vibrating with nervous energy. “It worked, and now we have something to report.”

“Okay, seriously, what the hell just happened?”

Her dad looks over at her and she’s shocked by how tired he looks. His hands are shaking. “I have a recording of Terry Silver admitting to trying to kill me in 1985. Tomorrow I’ll bring it to the police station. That should be enough to get the tournament shut down.”

“He _what?_ ”

“It was--” He shakes his head. “I’ll tell you more about it later.” 

“Wait, you’re going to report him?” Sam stares at her dad.

“We need to shut the tournament down. I don’t know how else to do it.”

“I’ll go with you.” Tory’s voice is quiet. She’s staring down at the table, at her bracelet. “I was his star student, and he tried to strangle me. Anyway, two stories have to be better than one.” 

“Three stories.” Sam smiles weakly at Tory when she looks over at her. “I was there too. I’ll vouch for what happened.”

“We’ll all go.” Sensei Lawrence puts his hand on her father’s shoulder, and he leans just slightly into the touch. “I doubt they’ll be arrested, but it’ll get shut down.” 

“As long as it gets shut down.” Tory coughs weakly again. “Do any of you have Ibuprofen?”

“Of course.” Sensei Lawrence rummages in his cabinet. 

“Tory.” Her father looks uncomfortable. “Do your parents know where you are?”

“My mother thinks I’m staying over with some friends tonight.” Tory takes another sip of tea. “I--she doesn’t know a lot about what’s been going on with me, honestly. God, I don’t even know where to begin--”

“We can set you guys up in a hotel tomorrow.”

“The landlord here owes me a favor.” Sensei Lawrence won’t meet her dad’s eyes when he looks over at him in surprise. “I don’t want to explain how, but I know there are always places open for rent here. They’re not great but they’re affordable.” 

Tory nods, looking too exhausted to argue. “Okay.” 

* * *

“LaRusso.” She jumps. Tory is leaning on the doorframe of Sensei Lawrence’s spare room in a pair of Sam’s sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt. Her hair is wet from the shower and she’s almost unfairly gorgeous. “Sensei Lawrence gave me these.” She holds up a stack of folded sheets. They’re the same dark blue that Robby gravitated towards every time he got to pick out the color for anything, and Sam realizes that Sensei Lawrence probably bought them for him. The thought makes her achingly sad, and she focuses on setting up the bed so she won’t have to think about it. Tory perches on the IKEA table next to the bed and watches her. “You realize we’re sharing a bed with your dads in the other room?”

“Sensei Lawrence isn’t my dad.”

“He’s fucking your dad.”

She drops the pillow to cover her ears. “Shut up.”

“I wonder which one of them tops.”

“Tory, I need you to shut up right now.”

“I almost died today, be nice to me.”

Sam sighs. “Don’t joke about that.”

“Why not?” 

“Because--” She realizes there’s no possible way she can finish that sentence, so she focuses on making sure the sheets are smooth. “Just don’t.” Sam is half expecting Tory to make a joke about her sensitivity, but when she looks over at her, she’s staring down at her hands. 

“I have something for you.” She goes to sit on the edge of the bed. Sam tentatively sits next to her. “Just like, don’t be weird about it, okay?” She takes Sam’s hand, the one with the bandage on it, rummages in the pocket of her sweatpants, and places something in her palm. 

It’s her spiked bracelet. Sam’s scars tingle and she looks at Tory in shock. “Is this--”

“Yeah. Look, can you not look directly at me for a minute? I need to say some things and if you’re looking at me it’s going to be hard.”

“Tory--”

“Please.”

Sam sighs. “Okay.” She looks over at the _Iron Eagle_ poster on the wall.

“What I did to you--it’s the worst, ugliest thing I’ve ever done, and you don’t have to forgive me but I want you to know that I’m so fucking sorry.” She sucks in a ragged breath. “Seeing you those evenings...I think it’s the only thing that got me through the past few months, and even if you don’t want to ever see me again after this I just want you to know that.” 

Sam turns back to her. Tears are running down Tory’s face, and she reaches over and wipes them away with her cardigan sleeve. “Is it my turn to talk now?”

Tory laughs shakily. “God, you’re a piece of work. Yeah, go for it.”

“Next time you’re being blackmailed or whatever, you come to me. Okay? I don’t care how much you want to be the tough badass who can do everything for herself, if you ever do something like what you did again, we’re done.”

Tory looks over at her, surprised. “So we’re not done now?”

“What can I say?” Sam smiles. “I have terrible taste.”

“I love you.” Tory doesn't meet her eyes when she says it, like it’s an embarrassing secret. “You don’t have to say it back, I know you probably--”

Sam cuts her off with a kiss. “--I love you too.” Tory laughs hoarsely, but it turns into a sob. Sam notices how dark the circles under the other girl’s eyes are. She wonders if Tory’s been sleeping at all these past few weeks. “Hey.” She wraps her arms around her. “It’s okay.” 

Tory presses her forehead into Sam’s shoulder and Sam can feel her tears soaking into her shirt. She gently rubs a circle on her back, remembering her father’s words from a week ago, a talisman against nightmares passed down from Mr. Miyagi and her grandmother and generations before them. “I’m here. I’ve got you. Breathe, Tory. Just breathe.”

* * *

For a moment, everything is perfect when she wakes up. She and Tory are tangled up in the narrow twin bed, and she can smell her hair and hear a coffeemaker gurgling. It’s peaceful. And then she remembers last night and _why_ she’s in bed with Tory. 

She carefully slips out of bed, not wanting to wake the other girl, who was still asleep--Sensei Lawrence had given her some pills-- _just Benadryl but it’ll help you sleep, plus with you know, the swelling_. 

Her dad and Sensei Lawrence are talking quietly in the kitchen. She can’t see her dad’s face, but she can tell from the way he’s holding himself that he’s still exhausted. As she watches, Sensei Lawrence takes his hand and gently brushes over his knuckles with his thumb, and her father leans closer to him, resting his head on his shoulder for a moment. 

“Morning.”

They jump apart like she’s the parent and they’re the teenagers. “Morning, kiddo.” Her dad clears his throat. “We were talking about breakfast--it turns out there’s basically nothing to eat here because some people just do not know how to shop.” 

“Shut up, LaRusso.” Sensei Lawrence rolls his eyes conspiratorially at her. “Does Tory like In-N-Out?”

“We’re not feeding them burgers for breakfast.”

“My place, my rules. Miss LaRusso, I need an answer.” She nods, wondering if she should tell him to call her Sam. Was that the protocol for this situation? “Great. I’ll be back in ten.” He grabs the car keys out of a bowl that looks like it’s made from melted beer bottles and exchanges a look with her father before leaving that she suspects is a nonverbal continuation of the conversation they were having before she woke up. 

“So.” Her dad turns back to her. “I really don’t know how to even begin with how reckless you were last night.”

“Really?” 

“These people--they’re dangerous, Sam. You haven’t been around them but the things they could have done to you--”

“I know they’re dangerous. That’s why I had to get Tory out of there. You saw what she looked like, they could have killed her, and I wasn’t about to let that happen.”

He rubs his forehead. “At the very least, you could have called me.”

Sam isn’t sure why she laughs at that, but she does, like it’s the funniest joke she’s ever heard. Her dad stares at her incredulously. “Sorry,” she wheezes. “I’m not laughing at you it’s just--I’ve been so sure for months there was no possible way you would understand what was going on with me, and the whole time you’ve been sneaking around with Sensei Lawrence.”

When she looks up at him he’s covering his mouth and his eyes are crinkled in a smile. “It is pretty funny when you put it like that. God.” They catch their breath for a moment. “How long have you and Tory been, um--” He rubs his forehead. “Let me try again. When did you stop trying to kill each other?”

“Since January. How long have you been dating Sensei Lawrence?”

“Same.” He half-laughs. “You know you could have told me.”

“About the dating a Cobra thing or the gay thing?” The word _dating_ sounds odd as a description for what she and Tory were doing, but it’s the closest she’s going to come to explaining to her dad what they were actually up to. 

“Both, I guess.”

“You could have told me too.”

She wonders if he’s going to bring up the spiked bracelet or the brawl at their house or when he found her sobbing by the balance pond. Instead, he says “Do you love her?”

“Yeah.” Sam doesn’t plan to say more but it’s so satisfying to hear the words out loud, and she wants her father to understand. “I didn’t--I didn’t plan it but she just-- I don’t know. I hated her at first, like, _hated._ More than I’ve ever hated another person. But then it changed. I’m not even sure when. She just--she can always see through me. And I’m a different person when I’m with her but I’m more, like, myself?” She looks over at him. He’s smiling and she thinks about the two of them in the fishing boat, the pride on his face when she figures out a move he’s been trying to teach. Kreese was wrong about most things, but he’s right that she’s her father’s daughter, through and through. “That’s why you love him, isn’t it?”

He nods, looking down at the kitchen counter. “I suppose history really does rhyme sometimes.” They both laugh, and he puts an arm around her. “Sam, I’m--I’m sorry. I realized, last night, looking at you and Tory across the kitchen table--I’m sorry I let it get this far, with Kreese and Silver. I should have done more to protect you. All of you kids.”

He’s rubbing the scars on his knuckles self consciously, and she remembers how small he looked in the Youtube footage of the ‘85 fight. “You were a kid too.” 

“Hey.” Tory leans on the doorway to the kitchen, looking groggy. “You got any more of those painkillers?”

Her dad nods. “Yeah, absolutely. How are you feeling?”

“Like shit.” She walks over to lean on the counter next to Sam, and Sam rubs her back as she swallows the pills with a wince. Tory tenses for a moment at the touch, and then presses into it, arching a little like a cat. Her dad looks over at them from the medicine cabinet and smiles. 

“Listen, Tory, I was telling Sam--” His phone vibrates and he glances down at it. “Hang on--”

The door bursts open, and Sensei Lawrence bursts in with a paper bag in his arms. He’s followed by Miguel and Carmen, and a tall blonde woman that Sam doesn’t recognize. 

“Daniel, I ran into some people in the parking lot.” 

“I can see that.”

“Sensei LaRusso! You won’t believe--” Miguel sees Tory and his face drops. “Oh my god.”

* * *

Her dad drives them to the police station after breakfast. Tory sits between her and Miguel in the backseat. No one says anything, but Sam and Miguel each hold onto one of her hands. 

“You don’t have to do this,” Sam says softly to her as they walk towards the door.

“Yes, I do.” Tory’s face is set in the same determined expression she gets when she’s at a disadvantage in a fight and is working on how to regain it. “I’m not going to let him have the last word.” 

The rest of the day passes in a blur. They’re at the police station for hours--all Sam really remembers is how awful the coffee there was and how Tory held her hand so tightly it hurt. Afterwards Sam goes with Tory to her apartment to explain things to Marjorie. She vividly remembers the horrified look on Marjorie’s face, how tightly she held onto her daughter, and the firm pressure of her hand against her cheek. 

_Thank you_ , Marjorie said. Sam wanted to thank her too--for inviting her over to dinner that night, for assuming they were friends, for knocking over the row of dominoes that led to her and Tory getting to spar on the beach and dance in a club and shout at each other on the balance wheel. 

She and Miguel help Tory pack up the apartment for several hours before her dad and Sensei Lawrence insist they “go do something fun.”

 _Nothing involving karate_ , her dad says sternly. _I don’t know, just get your mind off things_. So that’s how the three of them end up in Sam’s car, driving back to her house.

* * *

“We’re doing my post-AP exam strategy,” Sam says as they pull up to her house. “We’re gonna eat junk food and watch garbage TV and not think about the past forty-eight hours.”

Tory gives her an incredulous look. “Are you serious?”

“Ground rules: we don’t bring up Cobra Kai, the tournament, or karate. Any party that does bring these topics up loses junk food privileges.”

“ _God_ , you’re insufferable.”

They lug a bunch of beanbag chairs and pillows into the poolhouse dojo with Sam’s laptop and as much junk food as they can carry.

There’s a light feeling in Sam’s chest, even with everything hanging over them because Tory is at her house and everyone knows and it’s okay. And the tournament is canceled--she won’t have to stare at her on the other side of the mat. She won’t have to see Kreese whispering poison in her ear. 

Miguel settles on a stack of pillows and Sam and Tory share a beanbag. 

“Have you all seen Riverdale?”

“Oh my god of _course_ you’d watch that. You’re such a basic bitch, LaRusso.”

“Fuck you.” She shoves Tory. “Miguel, you have a vote. Riverdale, yes or no?”

“Um.” Miguel looks between them. “No comment.”

Tory throws a handful of popcorn at him. “Coward.”  
They easily burn through the first few episodes of season three.

“Hey.” Miguel holds up his cookie. “Are these the chocolate-oat chip cookies you made for after practice? They were so good.”

“Thank you.” She smirks at Tory, who rolls her eyes. 

“Miguel’s just being polite. That doesn’t mean these chocolate chip sawdust concoctions are good.”

Archie is forced to compete in an underground boxing match. “His form is atrocious.” Tory reaches into the bowl of pretzels on Sam’s lap and crunches on one. “Does anyone on this show actually know how to fight?”

Miguel breaks a cookie in half and dunks it in his iced coffee. “It would have been over in five minutes if he went for the guy’s knee.”

“It’s not supposed to make sense.” Sam can’t help herself, now that they’ve opened up that door she can’t unsee it. “Also he’s not guarding his abdomen at all.” 

They pretty much lose track of the plot after that and busy themselves with jumping around to the episodes with fight scenes and roasting them. 

“I thought our school was bad,” Miguel says as Betty and Jughead run from a man with a mask and antlers. “At least we don’t have evil Dungeons and Dragons.”

“Is _that_ what it’s based on?”

“How have you not heard of it?”

“I’m not a nerd.” 

“You’d like it.” Miguel looks at Sam for support and she nods in agreement. “We have a campaign with some of the other Miyagi-do students and it’s really--”

“You’re _both_ such fucking nerds, I can’t believe I’m here with you.”

“Come on, you know you love us.” Sam scoots closer to Tory on the beanbag chair, laying her head on her shoulder. Tory rolls her eyes but doesn’t deny it.

They’re all laughing their asses off at the boxing match between Archie and Hiram when Sam hears the door creak open. She feels Tory tense next to her and Miguel sit up straighter, and the little rational voice at the back of her head comments that it’s bizarre that they’re all reacting like this when it’s probably just her mom, or Tory’s mom, or--

“Hey.” Robby clears his throat, looking uncomfortable. There’s a nasty shiner on his left cheek, and he has bandages wrapped around his knuckles, the same way Tory did a week ago. He’s thinner than he was when she last saw him and his hair is shorter. 

For a moment they all stare at each other, and then Tory glances over at her and Miguel. Sam knows what she’s thinking and she half-shrugs, jerking her head over at Miguel, who nods. It’s the go-ahead Tory needs. 

“C’mon.” She pats one of the pillows. Robby walks over, looking skittish, like he’s half expecting them to attack. Tory lightly punches him on the shoulder when he sits. He looks over at Miguel, who is picking at the label on his iced coffee. 

“Dude, listen. About your back--”

Miguel holds up his hand. “If you’re gonna hang out you need to follow the rules. We’re not talking about fights or Cobra Kai or anything else.” Robby looks chastened. 

“I’m just--I’m sorry.” 

Miguel nods. “Okay.” He slides the bowl of pretzels over to Robby. Tory grabs a handful. 

“We’re not restarting the episode, if you have questions just shut up and look up the episode summary on your phone like a responsible adult.” Robby nods and she elbows Sam. “Hit play, LaRusso.”

They watch the boxing match for a few minutes in silence before Robby speaks. “His form isn’t very good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was originally an epilogue chapter after this but I think I'm gonna post that separately after I finish Tory's POV. I just want to be disgustingly sincere and thank everyone who left kudos or comments on this story, it really was incredibly important to me and knowing that it mattered to you too just gives me so much joy and gratitude. Special shout out to this fic's crazy aunt ballpoint_banana, who always answered my unhinged messages and encouraged me to follow my dreams--if you haven't checked out her "karate gimmick" AU I'd def recommend it, it's amazing, especially if you're a Mountain Goats fan. Anyway, thank you again, I love you all. <3


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